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By JEflfJiE (niJCf1/T\0I^E. 



DES MOINES, IOWA. 

IOWA PRINTING COMPANY 

1888. 




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Entered according to an act of Congress, in the year 
1888, by Jennie Muchmore, in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



DEDICATION. 

To THE Old Soldiers 

OF THE Union, and to the Memory of 

ALL Those Who Fell in Battle, or Who Now Fill 

A Soldier's Grave; is This Book Respectfully 

Dedicated by Its Authoress. 



PREFACE. 



I have, one by one gathered these ''Violets" from 
the hille of imagination, and made of them this 
"Boquet," which I trust may give a few hours of 
pleasure to my friends; if so, the knowledge will add 
greatly to the joy I have had in gathering them, 

Jennie Muchmore. 



COiNTENTS 



To Teacher, .... 


. 










9 


God is The Maker, Christ is The King, 








14 


i\. Pockage of Old Letters, 








16 


Her Autograph Album 








21 


Mother, Home and Heaven, 










23 


Mother's Portrait, .... 










27 


Books, 










30 


On the Beach, .... 










81 


My Treasure Casket, 










34 


Childhood 










41 


Two Brides, . . . . . 










42 


Three Sisters, .... 










45 


She Loved Them Both, 










48 


The Best Book, .... 










51 


Secret Prayer, .... 










53 


Climbing the Mountain, 










57 


Dying Visions, .... 










60 


Beside the Rose-Bush, 










. 64 


Two May Days, .... 










67 


To a Friend, 










70 


Galilee, Galilee, Sweet Galilee, . 






74 


Von Arden's Dream, 












76 


In the Moonlight, 












82 


Private and General, . 












85 


Life's Goblet, 












89 


Memory's Album, 












92 


Their Diamond Wedding, 












95 


A Heart Twice Conquered, 












102 


How Harry Won the Prize, 












105 



CONTENTS. 



Twilififht, Como to Me, 

Work, 

Only, . . . 

Orifjcin of the Ivy, 

Jewels, Precious Jewels, 

A Driinkartrs Vision, 

'I'he VVin(!-Uup, 

Lite, ii Hook, 

Wliich Was Cliarity, . 

A Christnius Vision, 

Notliini;- in My Hand 1 Briii<ir, 

One Pay Nearer, 

A I'ieee'ot' Marhie and its Work 

Notliin<;- Here, All in Heaven, 

My Hero, 

Tlie (lirls We Used to Know, 

Lei the World Ho What it Pleas. 

'i'o rhe(;. A. ){., 

I Sliall He Satislied. 

In Memory of A Friend, 

To Kenieniber — To Forfret, 

The Heathen, 

Woodland M(Hlilation, 

Duty and Talent, 

The Minister's i^ermon, 

Youthtid Vows, . 

To My Littlo ,Sister, . 

Three t'liains, 

Oidy a Cottaf^e Home, 

Ada Wayne, 

A Huneli of Faded Flowers, 

A Little (5 rave, 

A '"(iood-Hyo" Heeitation, 

The Grave-Vard's Seeret, 

When 1 nm Dead. 

A Lif^dit in the Window, 

A Pieture. 

Kiss Me When 1 am Dyintf, 

Jesus Doeth All 'J'hinj^s Well, 

A Hrother's Weddinjj Present, 

Their Air Castles, 

Met As Strangers, 



109 
111 
118 
116 
120 
V22 
121 
129 
132 
186 
188 
141 
148 
146 
148 
151 

ir>6 

ir)8 

1()4 
166 
169 
171 
173 
177 
180 
184 
186 
188 
191 
194 
196 
197 
199 
201 
208 
205 
207 
210 
211 
214 
216 
221 



T O T E A C H E R 

(my first poem.) 



"When the years have come and gone, 
And school days are passed and o'er, 

And bright and gay together, 
Onr "A" Class meet no more. 



ril thhik of my dear class mates 
When the fntiire is at liand, 

Yes, I'll think of all of them, 
As a dear and happy band. 



Fast in memory's chain, 

That is twined around my heart, 
Their names are linked together, 

And can never break apart. 



10 TO TEACHEK. 

And you, my dearest teacher, 
I will always think of you, 

As a teacher, mild and <>-entle, 
As a dear friend, kind and true. 

In that memory's picture, 
I'll not forget sweet Belief 

Nor tall and stately Anna, 
Who does her work so well. 

Kor Lee, the pride of the school. 
With his gentle, manly grace; 

May he win the world's high honors, 
And hold the most honored place. 

Nor charming, dark-eyed Minnie, 
And Mary, her hosom friend; 

May they always love each other 
And be faithful to the end. 



TO TEACIIKR. 11 



And Clara and fair Mittie — 
I could think of memory's chain 

As but an empty symbol, 

If it could not bear each name. 

Then comes merry Sidney, 
Who was always full of fun; 

May his life be grand and noble 
And all its work well done. 



And then comes friendly Angle, 
Our gentle, gay brunette, 

And Fannie and quiet Abner, 
That I never can forget. 



Aiid rougish, laughing Fred, 
Who never could be still. 

And gentle, blue-eyed Nellie, 
And noble, ujjright Will. 



10 TO TEACIIEK. 

And jou, ray dearest teacher, 
I will always think of you, 

As a teacher, mild and "gentle, 
As a dear friend, kind and true. 

In that memory's picture, 
I'll not forget sweet Belief 

Nor tall and stately Anna, 
Who does her work so well. 

Kor Lee, the pride of the school, 
AVith his gentle, manly grace; 

May he win the world's high honors. 
And hold the most honored place. 

Kor charming, dark-eyed Minnie, 
And Mary, her bosom friend ; 

May they always love each other 
And be faithful to the end. 



TO TEACHER. H 



And Clara and fair Mittie— 
I could think of memory's chain 

As but an empty symbol, 

If it could not bear each name. 

Then comes merry Sidney. 

Who was always full of fun; 
May his life be grand and noble 

And all its work well done. 

And then comes friendly Angle, 
Our gentle, gay brunette. 

And Fannie and quiet Abner, 
That I never can forget. 

And rougish, laughing Fred, 
Who never could be still, 

And gentle, blue-eyed Wellie, 
And noble, upright Will. 



12 TO TEACHEK. 

.xText comes Frank and George, 

Who, for drawing have a taste; 
May their lives be full of pleasure, 
Without one barren waste. 

And laughing, fair-haired Laura, 

And Mollie, bright and gay. 
And merry, dark-eyed Annie; 

May their lives be one long May. 

When your thoughts are free, dear teacher, 
From the world and all its fuss. 

May you gaze back with kind wishes, 
And often think of us. 

And when the years have fled. 
And the school of life is o'er. 

May you meet each happy pupil 
On the golden, iiappy shore. 



TO TEACHER. 



And they, as they pass the pearly gate, 

May each and every one 
Hear the good judgment, 

From the blessed lips, "Well done." 




GOD IS THE MAKER; CHEIST IS 
THE KIXG. 



All nature is tuned to one golden harp. 
And linked together in one golden chain, 
In soft, sweet music it reaches the heart, 
Chiming one glorious, one glad refrain. 
Over the mountains 
The glad anthems ring: 

God is the Maker; 

Christ is the King. 

The sweet song is luinimed 
By the soft April showers, 
And echoed and whispered 
By the sweet summer tlowers, 
Is heard in the notes 
Of the glad birds of spring: 

God is the Maker; 

Christ is the Kino^. 



GOD IS THE maker; CHKIST IS THE KING. 15 



We read the same letter 
In the pale moon on high, 
And trace the same words 
In the soft evening sky; 
See them in the bright beauty, 
The autumn leaves fling: 

God is the Maker; 

Christ is the King. 

In the snow-covered vale, 
On the hill, o'er the plain, 
In the soft, sighing breeze, 
Is heard the sweet strain, 
To the sott, sighing dew-drop, 
The sweet words cling: 

God is the Maker; 

Christ is the King. 

"When we have passed over Jordan's cold wave, 
When through the Valley of Shadows have jiassed, 
When by His blood, we triumph o'er death, 
When through His love, we reach home at last, 
We will join the glad choir, 
And with angels will sing: 

God is the Maker; 

Christ is the King;. 



A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. 



They lie in an old oaken chest, 

Tied with a ribbon blue, 
And when I long for a rest, 

I am wont to read them through, 
For they carry ray heart far away. 

Back to the time of its happier day. 

Go, bring the package to me; 

The letters I hold so dear, 
They will take back my memory. 

To a day that is far from here, 
And make me dream of a happy time, 

Of faces I loved and forms divine. 



A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. 17 

This one, so fnll ol love, 

Is traced in a girlish hand; 
She is dwelling now, above, 

She has reached the better land ; 
And yet, when I think of the young hand, slim, 

Which penned these line«, my eyes grow dinj. 

This letter, I read with joy, " 

And hold with a gentle caress; 
It was sent by my sailor boy, 

As he sailed o'er the ocean's breast; 
Full of his love and sweet good will; 

Darling boy, he is living still. 

Happy in peace, 

With friends by his side, 
Sailing with him 

O'er life's changeful tide. 
Rich and honored, the noblest of men, 

As humble and true as he was then. 



18 A PACKAtiK OF OLD LETTERS. 

This one, as I read it over, 

Brings a sense of ])ain; 
For memories around it hover, 

Of a bloody battle plain, 
Where the best loved one of my early youth, 

Fought and died in the cause of truth. 

This one is full of pleasure, 

Happy, bright and gay, 
And can, with its joyous measure. 

Take my pain away, 
For it was penned by a cousin dear, 

On the happy eve of a glad New Year. 

When she was expecting her happiest day. 

Her youthful heart aglow. 
She wrote the words I read to-daj^ 

In the years of long ago: 
Ah, her happiness has ever proved. 

Complete and true in the one she loved. 



A PACKAGE 01 OLD LETTERS. 19 

This one is written with care, 

But, in a childish, iinfirm hand, 
And I think of the little one, tair, 

As oft I have seen him stand, 
Trusting and truthful, by my side. 

In the blush and promise of childhoods pride. 

He is a youth more learned now, — 

I met him the other day, — 
With his handsome form and noble brow, 

He smiled in his old time way. 
And with his gay heart, free from every fetter. 

He jestingly spoke of his childish letter. 

Ah, this one, did you ask? 

It is dearer than any other. 
The token of one most loved. 

The lines of my angel mother, 
AVho is waiting now, on the golden shore. 

Waiting 'till we shall meet once more. 



20 



A PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS. 



Sweet letters, they can cheer me 
When nothing else hath power, 

They take back my memory, 
To happy girlhood hours, 

When I received each missive fair, 

And read and cherished them with care. 

Daylight is fading fast, I see, 
You can take the tokens blest, 

And lay them in their place, my dear, 
In the drawer of the oaken chest. 

And sometimes in the sweet twilight, 
I'll read them again as I have to-night. 




HEE AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. 



What is it, Gracie? an album old, 
Bound in velvet, clasped in gold. 

Willi lines from a friend on each written page, 
Yellow now, and dim with age. 

And you would hear about them dear? 
Well, bring the book and sit you here. 

And I will tell, as I turn each page, 
Of a time when I was just your age. 

These first merry lines, were written by George, 
He was a gay, young, English lord. 

Who, in the days of youth time sweet, 
Laid title, gold and love at my feet. 



22 UEK AUTOGRAPH ALBUM. 

But I scorned them, and sent liini away, 
And to-day he's a batchelor, bent and gray. 

Tliis sober verse, with a raourufal end, 
Was penned by Belle, ray bosom friend. 

Lovely Belle, she is a countess now, 
Before whose heauty, the wealthiest bow. 

On this page, the one sweet line, 

Was traced by the hand of a young divine. 

He is the gray-haired minister we heard to-day 
Preach in the chapel, old and gray. 

And this — but there's the tea bell, dear; 
We'll close the book and leave it iiere. 

You think me sad to-night? Oh, no, 

I have present joys, tho' the past must go. 

And yet, I would not for India's gold. 
Part with this album, yellow and old. 



MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN, 



Mother is the sweetest name, 
Ere' by a childs lips spoken, 

And when the mother has passed away, 
Earth's sweetest tie is broken. 

Motlier, who can pity us, 
And sootli our every sorrow, 

WJio watches o'er our dreams to-night, 
And guards our steps to-morrow. 

Mother is the truest Iriend, 
That dwells with us on earth. 

Mother weeps at all our care. 
And smiles at all our mirth. 



2J: MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEX. 

Mother hovers o'er us, 

Wlien sickness, pain and care 

Have touched our brow with fever. 
And left their dark prints the e. 

Mother, a dear home angel. 
Who bears each weary care, 

With meek and patient heart. 
And wafts our names in prayer. 

Ah, how we love and prize, 
Far more than any other, 

The loving household watch-word, 
The beautiful name of Mother. 

Home! what loving memories, 
Clusters around that name; 

It can soften the sinners heart. 
And make it throb with pain. 



MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN. 25 

As he thinks of the many virtues, 

Of the joy and peace and love, 
That cUistered around that home, 

E'er he left it, alone to rove. 

Play but the tune of "Home," 

On a distant, foreign shore. 
And the wanderer, roving there, 

Will seek his home once more. 

Home! if in the raging battle 

That word is lightly spoken, 
The heart of the bearded soldier. 

Is crushed as a flower, and broken. 

Home! where fiather and mother 

Make the fireside blest; 
Home! where sisters and brothers, 

Find from care, a rest. 

(2) 



26 MOTHER, HOME AND HEAVEN. 

Heaven ! that land of peace, 
Which all the weary seek; 

Where our bark of hope is drifting. 
O'er life's troubled deep. 

Heaven! where the tired soul. 
Is freed from weariness, 

And earth's sad ones, lind peace, 
In perfect love and rest. 

Heaven ! where the flowers of love, 
Once blighted by the tomb, 

Shall in the Garden of Eden, 
In radient beauty bloom. 

The sweetest joys of earth. 
To weary mortals given, 

Are sweet honie ties and Mother, 
And a hope of rest in Heaven. 



MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. 



I Jiave been looking to-day at a portrait, 
Which leans from the parlor wall, 

Tlie portrait of a lady. 
Slender, fair and tall. 

Long have I scanned it over, 

Noting each feature rare. 
Charmed by the hazel eyes, 

And weal'li of shining hair. 

I li'ave noted the costly robes, 

Of crimson silk and lace, 
Fitting the slender form, 

Becoming the girlish face. 



28 mother's poetkait. 

And I remember, years ago, 

When I lingered by childhood's stream, 
Of seeing that beautiful face, 

As fair as an angel's dream. 

Bending over my pillow, 

And kissing my fevered brow, 

So, I turn from the gilded frame, 
To watch the sweet face now. 

Dim to-day are the soft, brown eyes. 
And faded the blooming face. 

Stooped and bent, the slender form, 
Marred is the witching grace. 

Yet, just as fair as the picture, 

Painted twenty years ago, 
AVhen her eyes had the diamond's Ulster, 

Her cheeks had the rose's glow. 



MOTHER S PORTRAIT. 



29 



To me, is the sweet-faced Mother, 
In the high-backed rocking chair; 

Whose cahn eyes tell the story, 
Of a heart in the Saviour's care. 




BOOKS. 



Judge not a book by its binding. 
For, as a beautiful form may hold 

A heart devoid of passion, 
A soul, as marble cold. 

So, beautiful books may contain 

Teachings that kill the soul, 

Tho' they are bound in the richest velvet. 
And clasped with the finest gold. 




ON THE BEACH. 



A stately man upon the beach, 
A slight girl form beside, 

Lightly leaning on his arm, 
Watching the ebbing tide. 

Thus I passed a conple by, 

On the shining sand, 
She, with her trusting, pure eyes, 

He with his smile so bland. 

Each honeyed word he uttered, 
Was treasured in her breast, 

While he — he only won her heart, 
To boast of its conquest. 



32 ON THE BEACH. 

Thus I watched tliem, through the summer, 
Reading all her trustful heart, 

Seeing, how through vanity, 
He had played a heartless part. 

He, sighing softly, left her, 

When the summer days had flown, 

With no conscience, pang of pity, 
For her heart, so crually wrung. 



Once again, 1 passed her by. 

On the sandy beach. 
But the happy light had fled 

From her true eyes sweet. 

She was leaning on the arm 
Of one who called her wife; 

He was wealthy — years her senior, — 
Kingly in his love and pride. 



ON THE BEACH. 33 

Oft I wondered, as I watched them, 

If he could her secret know, 
If he dreamed her heart was yearning 

For that other summer's glow. 

And he, her false first lover. 

Beyond the blue seas' roll. 
Just wonders if she is walking, 

Where so oft' they used to stroll. 

The proud world calls them happy. 

Envies her her wealthy lot. 
But I know her heart is breaking 

For the love that's un forgot. 




MY TIlEASUPtE CASKET. 



There is a shining rose-wood casket, 

111 my chamber, hid away, 
And I unlocked its golden clasp, 

AVith trembling hands to-day. 

Opened it my box of rose-wood. 

To add to all its store 
Of precious, gathered treasures. 

One precious treasure more. 

Lying hidden in this casket. 

From the cold world's haughty stare, 
Is placed my dearest treasures. 

That I hoard with tender care. 



MY TREASURE CASKET. 35 

Here lies, in flashing splendor, 

The costly garnet set, 
Which my soldier father gave me, 

On a night I'll ne'er forget. 

He came into my chaml)or, 

In the twilight's early fall; 
Where I in snow-white garments, 

Was arrayed for my "first ball." 

"Yon are like your mother, daughter, 

You have her many charms." 
And father clasped these jewels 

About my neck and arms. 

Here lies a faded letter, 

That sweet thoughts to me bring. 
And folded in its pages. 

Gleams my diamond wedding ring. 



36 MY TREASURE CASKET. 

Here is a tiny golden locket, 

With my brother's pictured face; 

In the long ago, we parted. 

May God keep him with his grace. 

This is a note that Nannie "tossed me," 
Much against the teacher's rule, 

Who, unjustly, had forbidden 
Any "tossing notes" in school. 

Ah, my willful, little school-mate, 
Made a woman true and sweet, 

And unlike her later life. 

Seem the penciled lines I read. 

"Oh! Kate, father bought me 
Such a lovely, blue silk dress! 

I shall have it made like j'ours. 
Like your violet one, I guess." 



MY TREASURE CASKET. 37 

Darling Nannie, pure souled Nannie, 

For her earnest, christian life, 
Has received, from Christ, the Savior, 

Long ago, a "dress" of white. 

Here is a tiny, ruby bracelet, 

That ray little daughter wore, 
To-day her arms are stretching 

To me from the other shore. 

Here lies the satin robes. 

And the snowy, misty veil, 
That I wore when vows were pliglited, 

Which completed love's sweet tale. 

Here is a lock of silvery hair, 

And one of golden hue; 
The silvery one belonged to mother, 

The golden one to sister Lue. 



38 ]MY TREASURE CASKET. 

Here, liasliing forth in splendor, 
Its transparent rays of blue, 

Is a tiny cross of sapphires. 
And donor's heart was true. 



As I look upon its beauty, 

I can smile, in spite of sadness. 

As I think of him who gave it; 
With a thrill of grateful gladness. 

Handsome Frank, my boyish lover, 
Yowed to me, with kindling eye, 

That he'd never love another. 
Said none were as fair as I. 



And I smiled and said 'twas foil}', 
He was but a mere boy then, 

I, a woman years his senior, 

Knowiufj how his love would end. 



MY TREASURE CASKET. 

Years have passed and Frank is wedded. 

To a wife fair, good and true; 
Her locks are dark as midnight. 

Mine has the cliestnut's line. 

And he loves her with a passion, 
That no yonthful bosom M'arms, 

And he thinks her dusky beauty 
Fairer than my paler charms. 

I am glad "my boy" is married, 

Glad he sees his folly now, 
Yet I keep the costly trinket, 

In remembrance of his vow. 

Ah, my heart again is saddened. 
As fond memories stir within, 

And I'll close the treasure casket, 
E'er my eyes again grow dim. 



39 



iO 



MY TREASURE CASKET. 



For the friends, who gave these tokens, 
Made ray heart what it should be, 

Strong and true to bear the sadness, 
That has later, come to me. 




CHILDHOOD. 



Childhood, sweetest of life's hours, 
Spent in play- time's joj'ous bowers, 
Wreathed with free joys purest flowers. 

Childhood: free from every care. 
Guarded by a mother's prayer, 
Time unsoiled by sin or snare. 

Sweetest hoars of innocent plays, 
Beautiful childhood, are thy days. 
The childish heart is glad always. 

Enchanted childhood, soon, in truth, 
Too soon, you gi^^e away to youth, 
Youth, a fleeting dream, forsooth. 

Beautiful childhood, may you be, 

A star to light life's gloomy sea. 

And brighten its dreary voyage for me. 



(3) 



TWO BE IDES. 



Well, the dreaded ordeal is passed, 

And I can think it over at last. 
All alone in my silent room, 

In the shimmering rajs of the cold, white 
moon. 
How calm was the bride with her doll-like face, 

In trailing white and veil of lace. 
It seems like a dream, that I heard her say 

The words that bound them forever and aye. 
And the groom, so proud of his beautiful bride. 

Knows not the secret her false smile hides. 
She, like many another, herself has sold, 

For high position, rank and gold. 
She blushes to-night, 'neath my cold glance keen, 

Remembering well, the day, I ween, 
When she promised, just one year ago, 

To share my life, its joys and woe. 



TWO BRIDES. 43 

Ah, well, her promise to me is a tale that's told, 
And to-day, the idle I thought of gold, 

And cherished as such for many a day, 
Fell at my feet in a heap of clay. 

* % * ii •»•«-** 

How lovely she was, to-day, by my side, 

Trusting and truthful, my dark-eyed bride. 
Like a dream, seems that other night, 

When my old love became a raillionair's wife. 
She, beautiful still, is a widow now. 

And before her shrine many lovers bow. 
Can it be that three oears ago 

I thought her blond face the fairest below 
The angels? Ah, yes: but to-day, I know 

A face that is fairer, a face with a glow. 
That comes from the depths of an earnest heart. 

A face unmarred by fashion's vile art. 
It matters not, though my false love will smile. 

And try, from my wife my heart to beguile. 
Iler soft, tender smiles are nothing to me, 



44 



TWO UKIDKS. 



CoiU}mn'»l to tlio (loo|>, caniost love tliut, I see 

Shinin<^ on nio from mv wife's tiMuloi" ojes, 
In whoso deep, dark depths (here ever lies, 

The calm relloctions of :i nohle soul. 
That prizes honor far above ^i>ld. 

And lookin^r, \o dav, ou mv old love fair. 
With lier violet eyes and her gulden hair, 

1 thou,i>'ht liow our ideals rise with the years, 
And how they fall when they eause lis tears. 








Til KKK S I STK US 



Throe bountiful s'lBtcrs, robed in white, 
Started together in the niorniiiu;- ii^ht, 

To seek tlu^ (liuk hoiiiea 

or poor und oppressed, 

To ease the sick soul, 

To the weary, <^nve rest. 

One sou«j;ht tlu^ abode of a widow, lone, 
And sat with her by hercohl hearth stone, 
And bade her trnst (Jod 
in Ikm- sorrow's dark ni^ht. 
It was fair jjjentle Kailh 
in her I'obe of pure white. 



46 THREE SISTERS. 

Another, went softl)^ where a weary man toiled, 
And clasped liis rough hand, hardened, soiled, 

And talked with liim gently, 

Of a day of pure rest, 

And beautiful Hope 

Made his hard labor blest. 

The other, the last of the sisters three, 
But the fairest of all, sweet Charity, 

With willing hands entered 

A low cottage door, 

And toiled with its inmates, 

Discouraged and ]ioor. 

Lightened their burdens of sorrow and pain, 
Till a smile hovered o'er the tired lips again, 

And each tired soul, looked 

Up with new courage and love. 

And oftered a prayer 

To the Saviour above. 



THREE SISTEliS. 



4T 



111 the still hours of twilight, in evening's sweet glow 
These three gentle sisters, in robes white as snow, 

Entered the house of 

Our Father of Light, 

And kneeled, with hands folded 

Around the throne white. 



And each, in their turn, gave account of the day, 
Of the souls they had helped or from sin turned 

And Faith, Hope and Charity, [away, 

In fullness, found rest, 

When Jesns, their brother. 

Called them his blessed. 



SHE LOVED THEM BOTH. 



Which do I love hest, Nellie, 
Is that the question you ask ? 

To answer it truly, my darling, 
To me is no difficult task. 

When the cry of war tilled the land, 
To which was m3^ heart most true, 

The men who donned the gray, 
Or the ones who donned the blue? 

Well, listen, Nellie darling, 

And I will tell you all, 
My heert is true to both. 

For at the war's fierce call. 



SHE I.OVKD THEM HOTIl. 

And brave men left their homes, 

The wild (iry to obey. 
My bonny sweetheart wore the blue, 

My brother wore the ^ray. 

Both noble, good men, Nellie, 
And loved me more than life, 

Each did what he thought his dnty, 
Each walked by his given light. 

One fell in the tire at Shiloli, 

My darling one in gray; 
Cold and still they found him, 

When the smoke had cleared away 

And the other, to-day is sleeping, 
Neath the southern, flowery sod. 

They buried him where he fell, 
With his blue coat for a shroud. 



49 



50 



SHE LOVED THEM BOTH. 



So this is the reason, Nellie, 
I cannot teach my heart to say 

That either, to me is dearest, 
For I loved both, bine and gray. 




THE BEST BOOK 



A little child with sunny hair, 
Dainty, sweet as a lily fair, 
Phiyecl alone one sunny day, 
Plucking the fragrant l)uds of May, 
And sang, as she wove the roses red. 
Into a wreath for her dolly's head; 
Sang in a childish^ stammering wa}'. 
The song she would prize in a later day: 
"Holy Bible, book divine. 
Precious treasure, thou art mine." 

Years passed by and the golden hair 
Had changed to brown, and the maiden fair, 
Decks herself with loving ])ride 
In the snowy veil and robes of a bride. 
And with a tender light iti her eyes, 
She glances to where the bible lies. 
Then, when expecting her happiest day, 
She sang in the twilight soft and gray: 
"Holy Bible, book divine. 
Precious treasure, thou art mine." 



52 THE BEST BOOK. 

At a vine-clad window the mother stands, 
Trainin^^ the vines with her skillfnl hands; 
Watching tlie children at their play, 
Prizing the merry words they say; 
Then tnrns from the window with a prayer, 
"God keep my darlings in your care," 
And hummed as she oi)ened the bible wide — 
The book that had ever been her guide: 
"Holy bible, book divine, 
Precious treasure, thou art mine." 

The grand-dame sits in her easy chair, 
The sunset's light on her soft, white hair, 
Her gentle eyes, with age quite dim. 
Still seek to read the words of Ilini, 
AVho had been her strength, her iiope and light. 
Through all the years ot her useful life. 
And sings again in the twilight dim, 
As long ago, the treasured hymn, 
"Holy bible, book divine, 
Precious treasure, thou art mine." 



SECRET PRAYER 



Oil, the wonderful power there clings 

To secret prayer, when its sacred wings 
Wafts our trials, our grief and woe, 

To the Father above, "Who doth all things know." 
Ah, what a privelige, 'tis to us, 

To depart from the world's alluring fuss, 
And in secret prayer our sorrows tell. 

To the One, "Who doeth all things well." 
Perhaps wc will never know all the worth 

Of secret prayer, 'till on this earth 
At death's door we lay our burdens down, 

And freed from tlie crosses, grasp the crown. 

In a gilded city, where grim sin sleeps, 
A youth is treading its lighted streets; 



54: SECRET PRAYER. 

A bright- haired boy witli manly air. 

Seeking for pleasure anywhere. 
He paused one moment, where a chandelier 

Threw on the str.iet, its radiance clear, 
Little dreaming, that in that glittering saloon, 

Thousands had sank to Hell's dark doom: 
With an eager look on his young face, fair. 

He ponders a moment, will he enter there? 
JSTo; far from the city's clamerous din, 

A sweet-faced sister prayed for him, 
And a thought of her face in its youthful bloom, 

Drew him back from the gambling saloon; 
And wafted down from the great, white throne, 

On a secret prayer, an answer shone. 
A weary mourner, with grief burdened heart. 

Stood at the river where fond friends part. 
Stood on the banks of Death's chilling stream, 

Saw her loved one pass to the world unseen, 
And feeling her burden to great to bear, 

Fled to her closet, in secret prayer; 



SECRET PRAYER. 55 

And there alone, in the silent night, 

Commnned with the Father "who rewardeth in 
li^ht." 
And "a still small voice," from the Father's throne, 

Came softly down to the heart so lone. 
Said to the waves of grief in her breast, 

"Peace be still," and her sonl found rest. 
Far away on the dark, blue deep, 

Where sea-iish dance and mermaid's weep, 
A gallant ship, with her seamen brave, 

Battled long, with the mountain-like waves. 
But in vain, seemed her elforts against the gale; 

The cheeks of the hardy crew grew pale, 
And each drew back with fear sick soul. 

From a watery grave 'neath the ocean's roll, 
And gave himself up, in despair, as lost, 

As the gallant ship, by the waves was tossed. 
But, ah, over the ocean stole a calm, 

As o'er Galilee, in the years agone. 
For a loving mother, in secret prayed, 



56 



SECRET PRAYEK. 



For her sailor boy, and tlie ship was saved. 

Oh! tlie power of sacred prayer; 

The guard from sin, the shield from care, 
The strongest link in faith's firm chain, 

That binds us to hope, in the hour of pain,- 
Seek it in heaven, you will find it there, 

Treasured above — secret prayer. 




CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. 



We are climbing, ever climbing, 
The wearisome mountain of life, 

Soon, by patient endeavors. 

We will reach the summit bright. 

We are climbing up this mountain, 
With sad and weary souls, 

Through the ravine of tears. 
Where the river of sorrow rolls. 

Slowly, we are climbing, 

Over stones of care, 
The summit shining, 

In the sun-lit air. 



(*) 



58 CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. 



Climbing up the mountain, 

Slowly, daj by day, 
Sometimes finding friends 

And sweet flowers on our way. 

We are climbing up the mountain. 

Sometimes weary, ill; 
Still we keep ascending, 

Doing God's sweet will. 

We are climbing the mountain in hope, 
We are climbing the mountain in love. 

We are stretching our hands for aid 
To the ones who smile from above. 

Some are far below us. 

Just starting the hill to climb. 

Others are high above us, 
Far on the road of time. 



CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN. 69 

Some are needing our help, 

As they sink under sin's grim blight, 
Some who are climbing the mountain. 

Without the Saviour's light. 

Oh ! throw light on their way, 

Help them the top to win. 
Throw God's light around them. 

And show them the rocks of sin. 

Oe'r which their feet are stumbling, 

As they tread the darkened way; 
Lend them a helping, a helping hand, 

Throw them the Gospel's ray. 

Climbing up the mountain, 

Soon our journey's o'er. 
Soon we'll reach the summit. 

And will climb the hill no more. 



DYING VISIONS 



When the fire-light glows and glistens, 
Making shadows through the gloom, 

Do I but to fancy listen, 

Or are there voices in the room. 



Yes, the sound comes clearer, deeper, 
And sweet notes of music ring — 

Now the strains grow nearer, sweeter — 
Can it be that angels sing? 

Can it be that I am dreaming, 
Or do I see those visions fair. 

Coming with their white robes gleaming; 
Flowers of victory in their hair. 



DYING VISIONS, 61 

Is it but the flickering fire-light, 

Dancing on the parlor wall; 
Or do I see those fair forreis white? 

Can it be, I know them all? 

Yes, the first bright face I know; 

It, to me was early lost — 
For thirty years has lain below 

The summer flowers and winter's frost. 



And the next, my patient one. 
Who through tribulations went, 

Up to meet the Father, Son, 
Who such bitter crosses sent. 

I can trace no pain or woe. 

In the now bright face, 
It was marred by both below, 

]N^ow 'tis bright with Heaven's grace. 



62 DYING VISIONS. 

Ah! I see another face, 

Floating towards me through the air, 
I would know it any place, 

With its crown of silvered hair. 

He has been to me a father, 

Lov^ed me both as child and man, 

Sharing all ray cares and bother, 
He has made me what 1 am. 

There is another and another! 

Standing smiling, side by side, 
One is she, my sainted mother, 

One is she, my sainted bride. 

Ah, the throng is coming nearer — 
Standing all about my chair, 

Their sweet, tender words I hear, 
I can touch their floating hair. 



DYING VISIONS. 63 



And there is a radiant vision, 
Standing in the midst of tliem, 

Praise God! for the sight Eljsian, 
'Tis the Christ of bethlehem. 



Dead, they found the dreamer lying, 
In the gray dawn, bleak and.chill. 

With the joys that came while dying, 
Restine on his cold face still. 



And they wondered, through their sorrow, 
Why his face looked so divine, 

He had found a glad to-morrow. 
When he bade "good-night to time." 




BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. 



Beside a cottage of home-like grace, 
A happy child, with a merry face. 

Planted a rose bush, slender and green, 
Close to the j^orch, 'neath the window screen. 

Her work, completed, she turned away, 
To join the others at their play, 

And soon forgot, in the innocent glee. 
The slender slip of the yonng rose tree. 

Years passed on, o'er the sunny head, 
And every year the rose bush shed, 

Its fragrance sweet, 'round the cottage door, 
Making it fairer than ever before. 

Beside the rose bush a maiden stands, 

A bunch of its flowers in her slender hands. 



BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. 65 

And a far-away look in her dreamy eyes, 
As she gazes back, where the dead past lies. 

And thinks of the time of long ago, 

AVhen she planted the bush with heart aglow. 

Ah, me, she sighed and turned away, 
There's naught as fair as childhood's day. 

Beside the rose bush, a woman dreams. 
Of childhood's days and girlhood's scenes. 

She had won honor, wealth and fame, 

The proud world smiled and praised her name. 

Iler winning face and cultured voice, 
Had made the critical world rejoice, 

Yet, she turned from all its laurels rain. 
With a feeling, almost akin to pain. 

And now, for peace, repose aud rest, 
She had sought again, the old home nest. 

'Neath a coffin lid, in a dai'kened room. 
An aged woman lies in the ffloom. 



66 BESIDE THE ROSE BUSH. 

In the icy hands on her quiet breast, 

Is a pure, white rose, the fairest and best. 

Plucked from the bush, which, when a child 
She had planted there in the spring-time mild. 

In a quiet nook in a church-yard lone, [moan, 
Where the soft winds sigh and the tall trees 

Stands a rose-bush, stately and tall. 
And lets its wealth of white leaves fall. 

Year by. year o'er the silent tomb 
Ot one, who in her childhood's bloom 

Had planted it close to the dear old home, 
Where harm was not, nor sin could come. 

Sweet emblem of her childhood's hours, 

It stands and blooms, the sweetest of flowers. 




TWO MAY DAYS. 



We gathered the beautiful flowers 
And choicest buds of May, 

To deck our houseliold darling, 
One year ago to-day. 

His eyes were blue as the violets, 
His hair like tine, spun gold; 

Our precious, sweet-faced baby, 
That day he was two years old. 

We wove tlie soft-eyed pansies 
In the waves of his golden hair, 

And hung a wreath of roses 
About his soft neck fair. 



68 TWO MAY DAYS. 

We heaped his tiny apron, 

With the low, meek, violets blue, 

And the pale forget-me-nots, 
With rose ot crimson hue. 

We wished our laughing darling 

A happy christian life; 
We prayed he might bring laurels, 

From the envied hall of miglit. 

But to-day, with breaking hearts, 
x\nd voices hushed and low, 

We decked our pale, cold hahy 
In satin, white as snow. 

We have strewn with pure white roses, 
The sweetest flowers that grow. 

The tiny rose- wood casket, 
In the darkened room below. 



TWO MAY DAYS. 



69 



On its snowy, silken cushions, 
Rest our darling's lovely clay; 

The more lovely soul has flown 
Where flowers bloom alway. 

Oh, our darling sweet-faced treasure, 
Fairer than all earth's flowers, 

God's answered our prayers for you, 
But, in a different way from ours. 




TO A FRIEND 



Often, alone in the twilight, 
Dear friend, I think of thee, 

And I need not tell you. Myrtle, 
'Tis a pleasant memory. 

For in childhood was a friendship, 
That we now renew again, 

When in the prime of girlhood. 
We link its broken chain. 

"Tis sweet now to remember. 

How we waded the brook, between 

Us and our playing ground; 
The hill-eide, darkly green. 



TO A FKIEND. 71 

And a yearning wish steals o'er me, 
That we could, for one brief day, 

Put aside our graver fancies, 
On the liill-side, romp and play. 



But another brook is flowing, 
'Twixt us and the green hill-side; 

Wider, deeper than the old one, 
'Tis the brook of woman's pride. 



Tho' we cannot stem its current — 
Never play in childish glee — 

Yet the years hold many pleasures, 
Truer ones for you, for you and me 

May you find life's truest pleasure, 
All unmarred by doubting, care, 

Pleasures that are found by trusting, 
Taking all to God in prayer. 



TO A FRIEND. 

I will ever, hold jou, Myrtle, 
As among my friends most fair, 

And before I close this missive, 
Let me give my wish and prayer. 

'Tis: — may the rose oi content, 
Ever bloom in your heart — 

There the lily of peace, 

Burst its white leaves apart. 

There the fair pearl of kindness. 
In its whiteness be found. 

And the bright gold of hope, 
In its richness abound. 

There may the ruby of faith 
Shed its soft radiance bright; 

And the diamond of love. 
Cover all with its light. 



TO A FRIEND. 



73 



And when you leave this earth, 
May you all these treasures find 

Awaiting you in Heaven, 

In a jeweled crown combined. 




(5) 



GALILEE, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE. 



I love thee, I love thee, sweet Galilee, 
Why? because on thy watery breast 

My Christ, my redeemer, has often found rest, 
When, by the multitudes sorely pressed ; — 

Thus, thou art sacred, deep Galilee. 

Pure are thy waves, to me, Galilee, 

For they speak of a time. 
When the Saviour, divine, * 

Suffered on earth with all mankind; 
Fairest of seas, blue Galilee. 

Galilee, Galilee, Oh! Galilee, 

Were I to travel by sea and by land. 

To find for myself, the fairest strand, 
I would, by thy calm, blue waters stand, 

And know I had found the fairest in thee. 



GALILEE, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE. 



75 



Galilee, sacred, beautiful sea. 

Had I granted, to-day, 
Only one wish — this would I pray — 

That, kept from thy waters, forever and aye, 
All that is false or untrue, should be. 




YON ARDEN'S DKEAM 



Von Arden stood at a window, 

Alone, one New Year's night, 
He saw himself an old man, 

With hair of snowy white. 

lie had passed many of the j'ears, 
Which lead to the silent grave, 

But no fruits had he from the journey. 
For he had been, to sin, a slave. 

He raised his eyes to Heaven, 

AVhere the stars gleamed pure and bright; 
Then cast them on the earth, 

Where all seemed ffloom and niirht. 



VON auden's dream. 77 

Tliere he saw other beings, 

Whose remorse, like his, was vain, 

For having sown a lite of sin, 
Tiiey now, reaped its bitter grain. 

As he looked ni)()n them. 

His eyes grew dim with tears. 
As he thought of his early yonth, 

And all his mis-spent years. 

He thought of the solemn moment 
When his father with pious care. 

Showed him the two roads of life, 
And bade him, of one beware. 

One led into a fair, bright land. 

Where sunny harvests wave; 
The othel", into a cave. 

As dark as the silent ii'tave. 



78 VON akden's dream. 

As he thought of the one he had chosen, 
His heart for peace did jearn; 

And he cried out, in grief and terror, 
Oh! days of my youth return. 

Oh, my father, come back to me, 
And point out tlie roads once more, 

That I may choose the one 

Which leads to the sunny sliore. 

But liis cries were only mockery, 
His tears were shed in vain ; 

For father and youth had gone, 
To never return again. 

He saw floating, gleaming lights, 
That vanished in darkness away; 

These were but the emblems 
Of each sinful, mis-spent day. 



von-arden's deeam. '^^ 

He saw a star gleam brightly, 

Then fall from the blue vault above, 

This was like himself, who 
Had fell from truth and love. 

He thought of the friends of his youth, 
Who had entered with him in life, 

Who walked the narrow way; 
Were happy this New Year's night. 

The clock tolled one, in the tower, 

Kecalling the vanished years. 
Recalling his father's prayers, 

And his mother's parting tears. 

As he thought of their early lessons. 

He bowed his head in shame. 
Dreading to look at the sky. 

Fearing to speak each name. 



80 VON arden's dream. 

When he thought of tlie last dreaded hour, 
And what, then, his soul would lack, 

He cried out in a hopeless voice, * 

Oh, days of my youth, come back. 

And lo! his youth did return, 
With many a promise bright; 

For he had dreamed all this, 

On that happy New Year's night. 

He thanked God from his heart. 

That time was still his own; 
That all was but a dream. 

And his faults were real, alone. 

Thanked Him that far below him. 

Lay the gloomy cave 
And lying strait before him, 

Was the land where harvests wave. 



VON AKDRN S DKIOAM. 



81 



Now you, like Von Ardon, 

Stand by the roads of life, 
Doubting which one to take, 

To travel in toil and strife. 

Remember, in choosing the broad one, 
You go to the dissolute cave; 

Nothing to hoi)c for in future, 
But a dark, unhonorcd grave. 

And rcnieniber, when years have fled, 
Your heart, for \\o]}0, will yearn, 

And you will cry (Uit, but cry in vain; 
Oh! days of my youth return. 




IN THE MOONLIGtIT. 



I stood in the soft moonlight, 
In the garden's fragrant bower, 

In the solemn hush of midnight, 
That kisses the sleeping flower. 

I gaze at the moon in her splendor, 
As she throws her silvery beams 

To kiss the flowers tender, 

And the distant landsca]>e scenes. 

And somehow, I love to-night. 
Far dearer than ever before, 

The Summer's white moonlight, 
As it falls on hill and shore. 



IN rillO MOONI.UillT. 



S3 



l<\)r 1 know it fiillrt on :i iicw-tiimlo grave, 

In <;ontlc arrowy of liglit, 
As it. llickors thn)ii<;li thu Innw thai, wave, 

And moan llin)n<j;li the silont niglit. 

I know the Houl of the sleepei-, 

Ifi as calm as its genth^ rays, 
As it rests in the arms of its keeper, 

In the light of lleav(<nly days. 

I know he crossccl the river, 

Death's dreaded ley stream, 
With a faith that did not (juivcr, — 

As linn as the soft moon-heam. 



1 know his genth^ spirit, 

In the uid<nown, ha|)]>y hind, 

Jlas ree(>ived rewards for its merit, 
While with our earthly hand. 



84 



IN THE MOONLIGHT. 



Oh! moonlight, how it thrills me, 
With a joj I cannot tell, 

xVs it brings back the memory 
Of him I love so well. 

Oh! moonlight, sweet moonlight, 
Let your pale rays, dim, 

Go to his grave to-night, 
And carry m}- love to him. 




riUVATE AND GENERAL. 



That is a general over tliere, 

With crimson sash and sword's bright glare 

Flashing brio-ht in tlie sun-lit air. 

lie is a king of Liberty, 
The savior of our nation free, 
The one who severed slavery. 

Yes, that is a general; hut I ask of you: 
Who is that there in a blout^e of blue, 
With courage as great as your general too? 

Say, who is this here, with one arm gone? 

And a weary look on his face so worn, 

As he looks at you -neath his hat brim torn. 



86 PRIVATE AND GENERAL. 

Who fonglit through battles dark and drear, 
Who left their homes, to them so dear, 
Say, who is this, now that is standing near. 

Oh! with a scornful smile, you haughtily say: 
That is only a soldier, who followed the way 
The gallant general took in the fray. 

Only a soldier — God forbid that you, 

Should say such a thing of one so true, 

Who was true to his country and manhood too. 

You say the general saved the nation, true, 
Then what did the men in the blouses blue; 
Say, what did the private soldier do? 

Did they idly stand through the fire and fight, 
And but cheer him on to do the riglit. 
Was it he alone, put the array to flight? 



PRIVATE AND GENERAL. 87 

No, true it was tlie generals, wlio showed the way 

The gallant soldiers took in the fraj. 

But it was not the generals who won the day. 

Nor is it the generals, who, now war is o'er, 
Is driven cold and hungry from door to door; 
Weary and sick, worn and foot- so re. 

It is the general, whom you call great. 
Who dwells in a mansion on a grand estate, 
With nothing to do but light a fair fate. 

While the private soldier, weary and poor, 
Dwells in a cottage with low thatched door; 
You have no honor for him now the war is o'er. 

Well, you say from out your scornful lore, 

We did not send him from door to door. 

There are plenty of soldiers who are rich, not poor. 



88 



•KIVATK, ANDOKNICUAI.. 



^ CM, pU'iily ol' soKiitMH I hill nrc rich to liav, 
l^iit they nro not tlio oiios whoso health gavo wav 
Ah thoy fought in I ho hallU) iVoiu day to «lay. 

Well. hoiu>r lh(^ ii(MioraI, loi* it in his {]\\o\ 

Vx'w'o hiui ^roal hotioi- aixl I.uiiols loo, 
Ihil honor iho sanio. iho l»o\s in bhio. 



(?' M^ J^ 




LI vvr^ (; or, LET 



Life is like n, goblet. 

From wliicli wc all luuHt di-iiik, 
We take the lirst sip in onr cradles, 

The last, on Jordan's brink. 

For Bonie, the goblet is Huiall, 
And only a tew 8ij)8 tak(Mi, 

When it is broken l)y God's hand, 
To be repaired in Heaven. 

I hit tor some, the goblet is long, 
And tilled to the very brim. 

With oidy a little pleasure, 
Amid its iri'iet' and sin. 



(8) 



00 life's goblet. 

For some, it is fully filled 
With sorrow, woe and sliauie; 

For some, it is filled with honor; 
For others, filled with pain. 

Some till tliis cup with pleasure 
As sweet as the honey-comb, 

While others fill it up 

With the service of God, alone. 

For some, it is filled with knowledge, 

And virtue, pearly white; 
For some, it is filled with ignorance. 

And crime as dark as night. 

Yet, life is a glittering goblet 
Of which, each mortal sips, 

Yet, when drinking its drops of sorrow, 
We would dash it from our lips. 



LIFE S GOBLET. 



91 



Ob! stranglj enchanted cnp, 
He in Heaven blest, 

Will cboose atnong us all, 
Who has filled yon best. 



MEMOEY'S ALBUM 



Like an album filled with pictures, 
In the memory of long ago, 

As we turn its pages over, 

Sittine: in the firc-liirht's glow. 



Many a long forgotten picture, 
Glowing with a tender hue, 

Is presented to our vision, 

E'er we turn the album through. 



Many bright and lovely pictures. 
Painted, in childhood's early hours. 

Bring to us a sense of pleasure. 
Like the fragrance from the flowers. 



memory's album. 93 

And yet, in memory's true album, 

Mixed with the pictures bright. 
Are some that are tinted with wrong, 

And far from the beautiful right. 

Some, which we gaze on in grief, 

And would take from the pages there. 

But tliey must rest forever, 
Among the good and lair. 

Faces of friends, wlio were dear, 

And from this earth have gone. 
Fill up sweet memory's album. 

That now we are alone. 

Faces of friends who were with us. 

But from our side have gone 
To sail o'er life's svvift billows. 

And conquer its waves and foam. 



94: memory's album. 

But of all the beautiful pictures, 
On memory's pages pressed, 

We find the fairest scene, is 
The home of our childhood's rest. 

Faces of father and mother, 
Smile from those pages white; 

Forms of sisters and brothers. 
Give the leaves a holy light. 

Oh! given is memory's album, 
To cheer our saddest lot, 

By it we see past pleasures. 
With the cares of life forirot. 




TIIKIK DIAMOND WI'lDDINCi, 



Wo :iro fiittin^ uloiui, to-iii^lit vvil(5, 
Aloiui ill the, Huiiie old room, 

Wlioro I bmiiglit you, yciii-B a^o witb 
fii all of yotii' youthl'iil bloom. 

Now our liOiirtH arc not ho IVoc, wife; 

Our lu^urlH arc not so free; 
TliGu you were ci<^htcon, wito, 

An' I, juflt twouty throe. 

I havo boon thinking ol" the past, wiio; 

Of all tlioHo many years; 
Wo havo had many ploasurcB, 

Yot, not unmixed with t(!arH. 



90 THEIR DIAMOND "WEDDING. 

I have been tlnnkiiig- of the time, wife; 

That time, so long ago, 
When, with me yon stood at the alter 

In bridal robes of snow. 

Of all the brides I have seen, wife, 

Yon was to ine most fair; 
With jonr shining, violet eyes 

And your floating, chestnnt hair. 

You thought me handsome, too, wife. 

In that time of long ago; 
Now I am bent and feeble, Kate, 

With hair turned white as snow. 

Time has not spared you, Kate, 
Your charms have faded too, 

But you are just as dear to me, wife. 
As when in youthful hue. 



TIIEIU DIAMOND WEDDING. 97 

One by one the years went by, 

L{rin<^ing children to our home; 
One by one our children left us, 

And again we are alone. 

You think of stately George, I know; 

Our eldest joy and pride, 
Who went to seek his fortune, 

Upon the ocean's tide. 

Yon remember the sad day, wife, 
When the news came liome to us, 

That a grave he had found 'neath the ocean, 
Away from the world and its fuss. 

There, you must not weep, wife, 

That time lias long gone past, 
And we are nearing Jordan, 

Nearing its banks at last. 



98 THEIR DIAMOND WEDDING. 

You remember our Alice, love; 

Our gentle, brown haired pet, 
With her sunny, winsome smile — 

I can almost see her yet. 

Slie wedded a good man, wife, 
With wealth and a stately lionie; 

And lived as grand and happy 
As a queen upon a throne. 

Then next there came to us, 
The -baby boy who died; 

And next, our tall, young Violet, 
Who slumbers by his side. 

And last, came our Edith, Kate, 
Witii a face and form like you; 

The same meek, gentle air. 

The same heart, warm and true. 



'I'llIOIR nrAMONI) WIODDINO. 



99 



T seem to see lier ii<:^!UM, wife, 

As she stood by Iicr linsbaTKl's Hi(l(5 

At the alter, in the dim-lit church, 
And whis])ere<l the vow of u l)rid{\ 

And a^uin I can see her, lCat(^, 
As slu! lay iti her cofliii, cold; 

WJicri many years had passed 
And slio was irrowinii' old. 



I ivniemher of tliinkini; then, wife, 
'I'hat the last ol" oui- Hock had iJ^onc, 

And we, just as we be^an it. 
Are cndinir our life alone. 



To-night is our diamond weddin;^, 
And you are ninety three, 

And lam ninety ei^i^ht, wife, 
And still you are Kift to me. 



100 THEIR DIAMOND WEDDING. 

Strano^e that I should be thinkino: 

Of all the past, to-niglit, 
Strange that there seems around us, 

A bright, unusual light. 

What is that sound I hear? 

Perhaps some friend has come, 
Why no! it is our children, 

I know them every one. 

Give me your hand, wife, 

I feel so numb and cold; 
Perhaps they've come for us. 

For we are very old. 

-X- * ■» ^ * -» * •5( 

Yes, the time had come for these two. 
Who had lived so Ions' toirether; 

Who had shared life's trials and sorrows, 
Its cloudy and sunny weather. 



THEIR DIAMOND WEDDING. 



101 



Oil the niglit of their diamond wedding, 
Those aged hearts tilled with love, 

Together entered the portals 
Of an azure home above. 




A HEART TWICE CONQUERED. 



Midnight, luid in a chamber, 

In ancient splendor furnislied; 
Witli amber satin hangini^s, 

And carved oak panels, bnrnished; 
l^)efore an ancient fire-place, 

Where ashes alone, remain, 
A girl in glittering ball dress. 

Battles with love and \y,iu\. 

For, ah! to-night at the ball, 

With its music softly pealing; 
Its laughter and dancitig feet. 

And fragrance of iiowers stealing, 
She had learned of his nnirriage, afar, 

In a land beytnul the water. 
The marriage of him she loved. 

To an English Duke's fair daughter. 



A HEART TWICK CONQUERED. 103 



They had been lovers once, 

But two years had })assed away, 
Since he tenderly bade her good-by. 

Swearing devotion for aye; 
While she had been true to him, 

Patiently waiting, the while, 
Ho had l)een dazzled and won, 

By an English beauty's smile. 

Calmly she smiled to-night, 

'Neath the critical eyes of the crowd 
That sought to read her heart; 

Yet heard not, its beating loud. 
But now, alone with herself, 

She battles, but not in vain, 
For of the fire of hjvc in her heart. 

Naught but its ashes remain. 



A white-haired dame is sitting 

In the embers dying glow. 
Where the girl had fought and conquered 

Her mad heart, years ago, 
Again she with her heart, is striving 

In bitter, burning fight, 
But it is pride and revenge. 

And not with love to-night. 



lOi 



A HEART TWICE CONQUERED. 



Can she give lier fair, young daughter, 

The jo}' of her widowed years. 
To the son of the false hearted lover, 

Who had gave her life its tears; 
Long she sat and pondered, 

In that spacious, ancient room, 
With the lire-light's fading glory, 

Falling softly, through the gloom. 

And when the east was rosj^. 

With dawn of a morning fair, 
The dame, with a tender s.mile, 

'Kose from her carved oak chair, 
And penned a gracious letter; 

Her consent, on its shining page. 
And the heart she conquered in youth. 

Was conquered again in age. 




HOW HARRY WON THE PRIZE. 



Harry sat in silence, 

Searching liis liistory's pages, 
Reading with eager eyes. 

The records of by-gone ages. 

Grandma dropped her knitting 
To watcli the bright, young face, 

In which the father's beauty was 
Combined witli the mother's grace. 

Father and mother were sleeping 
In one grave, far from home. 

But grandma had tlieir likeness, 
In their bright, young, noble son. 



(7) 



106 HOW HARRY WON THE PRIZE. 

Her faded face grew bright, 

With a tender, loving look, 
As she watched the troubled face. 

Bending over the book. 

"Grandma," and there was trouble 
In the depths of the deep, blue eyes, 

"I must answer, to-morrow, three questions, 
Or I will lose the prize." 

"Which was the greatest battle, 

The world has ever known? 
Which was the greatest victory? 

And where was the victory won?" 

The light of beautiful thoughts, 

Shone in grandma's eyes. 
As she looked at the youthful face 

In tender, reproachful surprise. 



HOW HARRY WON THE PRIZE. 107 

"Which is the greatest battle? 

Why! that is easy I see, 
The greatest battle, Harry, 

Was fought on Calvary. 

When Christ the king of mankind, 

Nailed to the cursed tree, 
Battled with grief and pain, 

And died for you and me. 

And the greatest victory, darling, 
Was when he arose from the tomb. 

And over death and the grave, 
A glorious triumph won. 

And the place where the holy light 

Of that glorious victory shone, 
Was a snow white sepulchre, 

Hewed and cut in stone. 



108 



HOW HARRY WON THE PKIZE. 



So, answer jonr teacher, to-morrow. 
In the way I have answered you, 

And tho' expecting other answers, 
He will tell you they are true." 

The prize, a golden watch, 
Lies to-day in Harry's desk; 

For of all the answers given, 
His was the truest and the best. 




^»X 



TWILIGHT, COME TO ME. 



Twilight, sweetest hour of hours. 

Coining like the sweet spring flowers, 
Coming to my aching heart. 

Bidding all its care depart; 
Coining with each youthful scene. 

That my memory sti'l holds green; 
Gentle twilight, come to-night, 

Bringing all my memories bright. 
Of my childhood, of my youth, 

All the joj's of friendship's truth, 
Dreamy twilight, hour so fair. 

Take this silver from my hair, 
Make my heart grow young, and ring 

With the memories that you bring; 
Make my eyes, now dim with pain, 

Shine with love and youth again. 



110 TWILIGHT, COME TO ME. 

By the joys, too sweet to last, 

Which you bring from out the past; 
Sacred hour of memory, 

Gentle twilight, come to me, 
Come to me at close of day, 

Take my weary care away. 
Take me back, on memory's wings. 

To the place where Mother sings; 
To the old home, by the shore, 

That will sooth my heart no more. 
Friendly twilight, let me see. 

By the light of memory, 
All the scenes my heart holds dear. 

Whisper sweet songs in my ear. 
Sweetest hour of all the day, 

Gentle twilight, come and say. 
That they often think of me, 

In the old home by the sea; 
Lay my head upon your breast. 

Gentle twilight, give me rest. 



WORK. 



Work, tho' you may uot have won 

At the eve of life, at the the set of sun 

The object sought for when you begun. 

Work, though it may not bring you fame, 
Work, though it may not win you a name, 
Work, tho' your object is never gained. 

Work, tho' the task be but lowly, 

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly. 

Find some labor that's noble and holy. 

Work through sorrow, work through hate, 
Work through love and trials of fate. 
Work for some good, early and late. 



112 



AVOKK. 



Work for some loved one, lovinpj and true, 
Work for the ones, wlio are trusting in you, 
Their love will repay whatever you do. 

Work for the home that is waiting above, 

AVork for the Saviour and nobly prove, 

That you are doin<^ your <luty in faith and love. 

Work, do the work that to you is given. 
So that when from this Earth you'r bidden, 
You will be proud to see it in Heaven, 




ONLY 



Only a word, idly spoken, 

And yet the trust in you 
Of some dear friend is broken, 

That you never can renew. 

It is only a mother's prayer. 
To God, for her darling boy, 

As she kneels at the throne of care. 
And prays for her first-born joy. 

That leads him safely through 
The cares and battles of life, 

That keeps his heart e'er true, 

And strengthens him for the strife. 



114 ONLY. 

It is only a little word, 

Spoken softly, lowly, 
Which brought a soul to Lord, 

And made it pure and holy. 

It is only the clasp of a hand 

Of a friend as we say "good by," 

When they leave this earthly band, 
When the augel of Death is nigh. 

That gives us power to say, 

When our hearts feel sad and lone, 

And we kneel in grief to pray; 
"Father, thy will be done." 

It is only the memory sweet. 
That comes to the exile afar, 

Which brings him back in peace, 
Where the liome and loved ones are. 



ONLY. 



115 



Only the kiss of a child, 

On the brow darkly staiued by sin, 
That made the hard heart mild, 

And let the love-light in. 

Only a kind word spoken, 
In a soft, sweet pitying voice, 

Has healed a heart crushed, broken, 
And made it again rejoice. 



Only the love of God, 

Only his promise of light; 

Gives us strength to trod 
The thorny road of life. 



ORIGIN OF THE IVY. 



Ill a land beyond the ocean, 

Where with steady, constant motion, 
Flows the swelling Rhine, 

Dwelt a maiden young and fair, 
With lily cheeks and golden hair, 

And warm heart, truly kind. 

Had this charming lass a lover, 
And she pledged him that no other, 

Only he her love could claim, 
Yet she bade him "wait a time" 

Ere she, her girlhood left behind. 
Ere she changed her life and name. 



ORIGIN OF THE IVY. 117 

But he of waiting, wearied soon, 

And begged her grant him just the boon 

Of an early wedding day; 

Again she told him, with a smile, 

He would have to wait a while. 
And lie must her wish obey. 

Growing jealous, ere a while. 

Of her merry glance and smile, 
He sought the maiden's side, 

Saying, Ivy, hear me now, 
If you longer slight your v )w 

To become my bride. 

If you longer bid me wait, 

Yuu will but decide our fate, 
It shall be for aye and ever; 

She, thinking that he spoke in jest, 
Said, her power o'er him to test, 

"Then kind sir, just wait forever." 



118 ORIGIN OB THE IVY. 

Wi:li a look of deep despair, 

He turned and left her standing there 

By the river's side; 
She knew then, he in truth had spoken, 

And her young heart crushed and broken, 
She faded, pined and died. 

And one day as the mourners wept 
O'er the grave where Ivy slept, 

By the flowing Rhine; 

There before their wondering view, 

Above the breast of her so true, 
Sprang a curious vine. 

Then the mourners ceased to weep. 
As day by day they watched it creep. 

Till her grave it covered over, 

And as it crept from knoll to knoll. 

They said it was sweet Ivy's soul. 
Going forth to find her lover. 



ORIGIN OF THE IVY. 



119 



This is how the ivy came; 

The lovely plant, so known to fame, 
With which is decked both cot and hall 

When you twine its dark, green leaves, 
Think of the girl beyond the seas, 

Whose life's honey turned to gall. 




JEWELS, rRECIOUS JEWELS. 



You may sigli for the wealth of India, 
And work for the glittering gold. 

You may weep for the jewels of Russia, 
And long for her wealth untold. 

Yet, more precious still, is the jewel 

That every man may hold. 
The snow-white pearl of kindness, 

The peerless gem of the soul. 

You nuiy search for the costly diamond 
Deep down in the ocean caves, 

You may seek the gleaming sapphire 
Beneath the deep, blue waves. 



JEWELS, PRECIOUS JKWEL8. 121 

You may toil for the pure, white silver, 

In America's bountiful mine. 
But by a patient, holy eftbrt 

Yon, purer things may find. 

Go, when you seek for jewels. 

To the deep caves of the soul, 
Seek its fair ruby of faith. 

More precious than diamonds or gold. 

Go, search out its emeralds of love. 

Its diamonds of patience find. 
Go, seek the sapphire of hope. 

In the caves of the human mind. 

Search long for these jewels in ho])e, 

Toil and strive for tliem now, 
And in eternity's peaceful hours, 

You will wear them u])on your brow. 



(8) 



A DRUNKARD'S VISION. 



A drunkard went stai^gering down the street, 
In the winter's storm, with its driving sleet; 

His thoughts were bitter, wild and dark, 
No sense of honor dwelt in that heart. 

He cared not for honor, for home nor friend. 
Nor, did ho think of the bitter end. 

Which awaitsjdl drunkards. Hell's despair, 
Removed forever from the good and fair. 

He thought, not of the time Mhon, free from sin, 
He had hated whiskey, brandy and gin; 

But cursed himself with a bitter oath. 

That he had not the liquor, which he loathed. 



A drunkard's vision. 123 

Adown that street, came a fair, sweet child. 
With a face so gentle, meek and mild; 

She raised her face so sweet, so fair, 

In a white hood framed, to the drunkard's stare, 

And with a pitying thought in her heart unguiled, 
She looked straight into his ejes and smiled. 

Then hastened past with careless feet, 

And was lost in the crowd of the busy street. 

And the drunkard said, as she vanished there. 
And was lost in the distance and snow-filled air, 

What does she care, in her warm furs clad. 
Whether the weather is good or bad. 

But, somehow her smile to his cold heart went, 
And the drunkard's thoughts on the past were bent. 

I know not how, but that winsome child. 
With her tender heart and her pitying smile. 



124- A DKHNKAUn's \ ISION. 

llud ;i\vak(Mic(l u coi'il in liis lieurl (liiit. slept, 

Aiul bi'ou^ht teura to the eyes, which kcUIoim wopl. 

A bitter |i:iiii in Iuh mad soul Ininu'd, 

Ah liis thoiii^hts lo the 1 iinc of his childiiood turned. 

lie IhoHi^ht of n time, when :is ['vw iVom euro 
And MS sweet as she, he had kneeled in prayer. 

And look(>d nj) into his n\other's face, 

As she huiij^ht him to say (ho words of i;i'uc(^ 

11 1> thoni;-ht of the time when lu> wtMit, alone, 
()ut in the world from his boyhood's honu'; 

Of the years ol" content, snceess and work, 
When he songht each dnty, hut noyor to shirk. 

lie saw again the scones of lii^ht 

'i^hat thi-illed his lieart on his weddini;- nii;ht. 

lie saw tlu; cluii'ch and lh(> bridal veil, 

The white satin robes, (hi-oni;'h tli(> \ou^ aislo trail; 



A IHtllNKAICI* S VIHION. 



125 



lie 8cen»c(] to lujur tin; </iv\ \>y liin Hide, 
Wliinper aj^iiiti tin; vowh of a Ijride. 

lie Buw u home in u lovc-hlcHt Hpof, [sought. 

Wlicrc IiIb f'rierulBliij) w;ih courted, liiH prcBcnce 

lie H!iw Ji^aiu, the gilded hall, 
ThiitcurHefl place whore the rightous fall. 

lie BUW that liine again, alaHl 

When he was tein])te(l to take one ghiHS. 

With a Binilc he drank to the health of a friend, 
Little dnjHining of thiH hitter end. 

Then, to i-CHiBt thciir wordH wmh all in vain, 
lie drank with his friendB again and again. 

No harm to <lritd< to friendship free, 
No, not in the act, hut in what may he. 

As he thought of how lui had been beguiled, 
IliH thoughts turiu;d hack to the winning child. 



126 



A DRUNKARD S VISION. 



She is so pretty, so winning, so mild, 
I wonder now, that on me she'd smile — 

I wonder if I could be as pure again, 
As once I was, without sin or stain. 

***** -X- * * 

I will reform, he softly said, 

As he crept that nighl in the charity's bed. 

And the gentle child, in her princely home, 
Prayed for the drunkard so wretched and lone. 

And God spoke peace to that heart of blight, 
And answered her prayer, in the fullness of might. 




THE WINE-CUP. 



Fair is the sparkling wine-cup, 

When filled with the odorous wine; 
Sweet is its fragrant odor, 

As roses of southern clime; 
Yet touch not the ruby liquor, 

Though the cup is wreathed in flowers, 
Though it is passed by friends 

In friendship's social hours. 

Beware, ye ardent lo^'ers 

Of the tempting liquor bright, 
For, down in its rosy depths, 

Are demons, black as night. 
Demons, who are waiting 

With eager, longing hand, 
To crush the joy and honor, 

And kill the soul of man. 



128 



THE WINE CUP. 



Sit not down, with a friend 

To his ample, cheerful board, 
If on that friendly table 

The tempting wine is poured, 
For wine is ever treacherous 

Though the glass you drink is small. 
And down in the tiniest cup, 

The demons bcclvon and call. 

Oj wine-cup, treacherous monster, 

A demon black, thou art; 
A serpent, which is coiling 

Around the human heart, 
God pity the helpless mortal, . 

Who of thy poison sips; 
God give him power and courage 

To dash yon from his lips. 




LIFE, A 1U)0K. 



Life is :i voluinn, l;u-^(i niid bright, 
And iij)()ii itn [)!i<i;e8 vvliito, 
Vouii^ ;iM(l old iiliko must write. 

First, upon the snow-wliite sheet, 
We \vrit(! the njuno ofthi^ l)aby sweet, 
Th(Mi liiy it open at its feet. 

Then hahy's timid liand 

Writes cai'.Ii word as it slioidd stand, 

Wliether of good or evil l)rand. 

All thi'ou;^h hahyho'id and (-liildhood, 
All throu<i;h early youth and maidiood, 
Every action kind or good. 



130 LIFE, A BOOK. 

All are written on those pages 
And must live tlirou":!! comins: aafes, 
Though the war of life tierce rages. 

Every action, dark or fair, 
Every grief and weary care, 
All are stamped forever there. 

If we love the God above, 
Meek and lowly as the dove. 
In that book is all our love. 

All through sin and strife and ruth; 
All through kindness, love and truth, 
Trough weary age and happy youth, 

We are writing, writing ever, 
And our hands are lifted never 
'Till the knife of death doth sever. 

When our years have come and fled 

We will finish the book on our dying bed. 

Soon by God to hear it read. 



IJFK, A BOOK. 



131 



And as our friends around U3 stand, 
Weeping for us as we leave their band, 
"The End" will be traced by an angel's hand. 

Let us write this book, in mercy given, 
So we will be prepared to see it in Heaven, 
When by death's call from earth we are bidden 

Prepared, because on its pages white 
We have traced only what is right. 
And pictured it with ])atience's light. 




WHICH WAS OIIAIUTY? 



Onoilay wlien the snow was tallinu^ 

111 tloecy, te;vtlioi-v Hakes, 
Covering, with ;i i)uiv, whito mantle, 

The rivers, iiills ami lakes, 
I stot)d iit my oHice window 

Lookin*; out o!i the busy street. 
Watching the eager erowd 

Hastening past with living feet. 

There were workmen hastening home 

To a well-earned peaceful rest, 
And boot-hlacks and small news-boys 

Whistling with meiry zest; 
There were merchant-kings and bankers 

Hastening with clerks along, 
And rich-robed, haughty ladies 

Mingled with the thronir. 



WIIKMI WAS CHARITY. 133 

And pretty, brii^lit-cyi'd sliop-i^'irlH 

Passed, with cheeks ii<j;l<)W, 
Iveininding mc, it) their beauty, 

Of roses in the snow. 
]*iit there was one still fi^jjure, that 

Moved net as the cr()W<l swept by, 
A slight .ij;irl, j)aK! and eold, 

Yet utteriiiii; no word or cry. 

Ele^i^ant city dames, on 

Some chai'ity's work intent, 
JJrew back their silken robes, 

And scornl'id looks on her bent. 
Why should they term her an outcast, 

Her heart was j)nre as the snow, 
No act of her's, but ot others 

Had wrougiit her life its woe. 

1 watched as another drew near, 

A <^irl with the air of a ({ue(Mi, 
With eyes of dusky midnight, 

And hair of sunlit sheen; 
I knew iier as an heiress 

Oi" untold wealth and gold. 
The star of social circles, 

With a heart, as i was told. 



34 WIUl'll WAS CMIAKll'V. 

As coUl US luiy inarblo, 

And slu% )i sworn cnoniy 
Of all socioties ami plans 

In the nanio of charity. 
Cliiirity's enemy — ami yet she went 

In her sj>Iend()r and beauty lair, 
'l\»ok the out-east to her breast, 

And j>illowed the tired head there. 

Spoke of peace and rest 

To the huni^-ry, yearnin<j^ heart, 
Told of a pleasant home, where 

Care had no placi^ or part. 
And then all unmindful «)f 

Her own rich eloak and ijown. 
She walked, as with a sistt>r. 

With tlu> outcast of the town. 

'I\> her own home, out of the street, 

Tenderly brought her in, 
Saved her briii'lit, youtii^ life 

From the blijj;htini;' branil of sin; 
And to-niii^ht; when the bands were l'''^y'"r? 

In hont)r of the tlamea, 
Who, in all the city chaities, 

llftvo enrolled their honored names, 



WlllOir WAS OirARITV. 



185 



T thou<rlit, in tlio dited of the licirofis 
Far nicro charity ^'Icamod, 

When bIic, unphiuded and unlaureled, 
Tlic outcaHt liad redeemed. 



A CHRISTMAS YISION. 



T'was Christmas eve, and I was dreaming 
By the fire-light, in my chair, 

When n])on my startled vision, 

Burst a strange scene, quaint and fair, 

T'was a small church, rudely furnished, 
But above the alter there. 

Fashioned by a maiden's hands. 

Was a star of ever-greens. 
And above in bright, gilt letters. 

The name of Christ, in beauty gleams; 
And just below it "Bethlehem" caught 

The lamp-light's quivering beams. 

And another place I saw, 

The court of a mighty king. 
And I heard, from the harps of his 

Minstrels, the Christmas anthem ring, 
A soft, sweet tender carol, 

Like as the angels sing. 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 137 

And tlierc, on the satiny wall, 

Al)uve the royal throne, 
Fashioned ot countless diamonds, 

A star in beauty shone. 
And "Bethlehem," above it 

Gleamed of precious stones. 

While in the center of the star, that 
The light of the sun-beam enticed, 

In beautiful, pure gold letters, 
Glistened the name of Christ; 

Sweet name, that the angels are sinirina" 
By the throne in Paradise. 



'f:>^"t-> 



1 awoke with a start from my dream 
As the clock tolled the hour of ten; 

But my glad Iieart beat in rapture 
With thoughts of the glad time when 

Rich and poor shall greet him. 
The Christ of Bethlehem. 



(9) 



"NOTHING IN MY HAND, I BEING." 



One evening, as homeward I wandered 

Through tlie city's surging tide, 

I passed a row of dwellings 

Where laborers abide. 

And there, from tlie humblest cottage, 

Through the half-way opened door. 

Came the ^vords of an old hymn, 

Dear to Christians ever-more. 

The bitter sting of poverty, 

Tlie strife for right o'er wrong 

Had not the power to tarnish 

The sweet taith of the song, 

"Nothing in my hand, I bring. 
Simply to Thy cross I cling." 



"nothing in my hand, i bring." 139 

I heard, one day, as I tread the hall 
Of an elegant mansion fair, 
From one of its upper chambers, 
The wails of grief and dispair. 
There knelt a beautiful, haughty dame 
In robes of silk and lace, 
A look of bitterest agony 
Deep-lined on her high-bred face. 
Ah, tlien, against its God, 
Her proud heart ceased to rebel, 
And from her quivering lips 
Humbly the sweet words fell, 

"Nothing in my hand, I bring. 

Simply to Thy cross I cling." 

So, 1 pray that the Father 

May give day by d&j, 

To me, the humanity 

To teach me to say 

The words 1 heard the laborer sing 

As he sat in his cottage, shabby and old; 



140 



"NOTlllNli IN MV HAND, 1 HKINO." 



Well 1 know, tlmt within his lubor-bcnt I'oi-in 

There beats a heart as true as gold, 

And if like '^iny lady" 1 

Am bowed down witli grief, 

May Ho make uw more humble 

'Till I shall ro])eat, 

"Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simjdy to Thy cross I cling." 




ONE DAY NEARER. 



When the evening hour approaches 
And the sliadows darkly fall; 

When tlio sun has sank in the west 
And twilight is over all; 

Do you think, ere the lamps are lighted 
And you sit in the gloom alone, 

That you are one day nearer the grave — 
One day nearer your home? 

One day nearer the close 

Of this long and weary life; 
One day nearer the end 

Of its ceasless, endless strife. 



142 ONE DAY NEARER. 

One day nearer the time 

When you see death's billows roll 
And hear the voice of Jesus, 

In the distance calling your soul. 

One day nearer the time 

When you kneel at the Saviour's feet 
And account for every action, 

Every thought and deed. 

One day nearer the hour 

When yon see the boatman's oar 

To waft you softly over 

To the brighter, better shore. 

One day nearer Heaven, 

One day nearer love. 
One day nearer the crown 

From the sacred hand above. 



A PIECE OF MARBLE AISD ITS WORK 



A ])iece of Marble as it lay 

In the mud and filth of the street, 
Chanced to, as he passed that way, 

The eye of a sculptor greet. 

He stooped and picked it up, 

All muddy and defiled, 
And as he bore it home, 

The sculptor knowingly smiled. 

With powerful acid and water, 

He snon restored again, 
Back to the marble, its whiteness 

Without a blot or stain. 



144 A PIECE OF MARBLE AND ITS WORK. 

Then many a patient hour 

The carver worked and planned, 

And tlie chisels did their work, 
Beneath his ekillful hand. 

And lo! from the piece of marble, 
That coarse and defiled had seemed, 

In glittering, snow-white beauty. 
The form of an angel gleamed ; 

And as I looked upon it 

And saw the wonder that was wrought, 
I took to my heart a lesson. 

And this is what it taught — 

That in the vilest of mankind, 
Hid 'neath the cloak of vice. 

Is a soul of countless worth, 
A pearl of royal price. 



A PIECE OF MARBLE AND ITS WORK. 



145 



And tliat we, with the water of faith, 
And the powerful acid of prayer, 

Can take the vice away, 

And find the treasure there. 

And lie, who sends his love, 
The coldest heart to warm, 

Will take the coarsest clay, 
And mould an angel's form. 




NOTHING HERE, ALL IN HEAVEN. 



When weary, almost despairing, 
Battling with life and its fate; 
Giving gems of love, 
Receiving stones of hate; 
Yet, cease not to hope. Oh, heart 
By sorrow's dagger riven, 
Though hate be thy portion here, 
Love is thy portion in Heaven. 

Tired of the sham and the show; 
Tired of the base, the untrue; 
Tired of the gilded sin 
Which takes the place of virtue. 
Still, heart deceived, look up. 
Claim the promise given! 
So little here is true, 
All is truth in Heaven. 



NOTHING HEKE, ALL IN HEAVEN. 147 

Oh! heart that is sadly beating, 
Burdened with pain and grief; 
Whose joys are fev^ and fiooting, 
Let this thought be your relief: 
That your heavy, bitter burden, 
By God's own will is given; 
If grief be thy portion here, 
Joy is thy portion in Heaven. 

Mourner, whose heart is breaking 
And sighing for those who are gone. 
Go to their grass-grown graves. 
And tune your heart to the song, 
That tho' gain is less than losses. 
And grief unto thee is given, 
Tho' fond friends liere must part, 
They shall meet in Heaven. 




MY HERO. 



When in boyhood's hours, T listened 

To tlie tales, in rapture told, 
Of some laureled, fabled hero. 

And his deeds of daring bold. 

# 

Did my young heart beat with envy, 
And my cheeks with pleasure flame, 

As 1 vowed when grown to manhood, 
I would tread the iialls of fame. 



Ah! then, in youthful ignorance. 
Of stern life and its ways, 

I thought the greatest pleasure 
Lay in the proud world's praise. 



MY IIKRO. ^^^ 



Then I fouiul luy ideal hero, 
In the hon;)rod, the renowned, 

Who, for daring deeds of valor, 

With the laurel wreaths were crowned. 

But now, when silvery hairs 

Are shinini^ through the brown, 

And iinnly on my forehead 
Eests niaidiood's sober crown, 

I find the vain world's praises, 
To a true heart, brings but scorn, 

And under the laurel wreath 
Ih hidden many a thorn. 

And now I find my hero. 

In the man, who, day by day. 

Wins the battles o'er temptation. 
Keeps the Evil One at bay; 



150 



MY HERO. 



Who seeks not to have his name 
Enrolled on History's pages, 

Bat thanks God it is ])enned 
In the Livine: Book of Ae:es, 



Who, in place of seeking pleasures 
In the fleeting things that die, 

Is seeking for the treasures 
Laid up and kept on high. 

AVho seeks no envied laurels, 
Given by the vain world cold; 

But is hoping for that treasure. 
The shining crown of gold. 




THE GIRLS WE USED TO KNOW 



Draw up your chair, old chum, 

Close to the ember's glow, 
And let us talk to-night 

Of the girls we used to know: 
'Tis fifteen years since last we met, 

And yet, I'll wager you think of them yet. 

A very lily of a girl was Belle; 

Tall, and white and fair. 
With something like a lily's grace 

In her high-bred, stately air; 
To call her friend was a joy to me, 

For I knew how true her heart could be. 



152 THE GIRLS WE USE TO KNOW. 

Jenny was merry, full of life, 

Loving pleasure and fuTi, 
And yet, she became a minister's wife. 

And, as I have heard, a model one; 
Quiet, settled and subdued now, [brow. 

Witli the li^-lit of content on her calm, white 

Grace was sweet as a violet, 

Thoughtful, timid and meek. 
With the beauty of the wild rose 

Glowing on lips and cheek; 
She has the wise world's praise attained. 

Dear little Grace is writer-famed. 

Saucy Kate was a beauty fair, 

Who had lovers by tiie score; 
Yet, vowed she would never marry, 

This side of England's shore; 
She, none but a titled peer would wed. 

If she died an "old maid" she gaily said. 



THE GIRLS WFi USED TO KNOW. 153 

She wedded a <^rave, youijf^ doctor, 

And settled down in life, 
A happy, gay, contented 

And wholly loving wife, 
Who laughs to-day, in her matronly pride, 

At the empty title for which she sighed. 

Silver-voiced Rose, was a blonde. 

Of snow-white heauty rare; 
I lost m}' heart at eighteen. 

In the waves of her golden hair, 
But she laughed at my love, and called me a hoy. 

And played with my heart as she would a toy 

I saw her the other night 

In a crowded opera hall, 
She, the queen of singers; 

Her grand voice thrilled us all, 
And yet, as I watched her, cold, fair and tall, 

I wondered that I ever loved her at all. 



(10) 



154 THE GIRLS AVE USED TO KNOW. 

Helen, grave, sweet Helen, 

Was as true as any steel, 
She showed me life was earnest 

And Heaven near and real; 
She is a christian, one that fills my ideal quite. 

And is a missionary in far Japan, to-night. 

But of all the girls we knew. Jack, 

In youth's bright, early day. 
The dearest one of all, to you. 

Was gentle Mollie Gray, 
With her fairy form and child-like face. 

Her stainless heart and womanly grace. 

And she was fond of you, Jack, 
And would have been your bride. 

But for her mother's tears. 
And her father's stubborn pride, 

Ah! the true, gentle heart that to you she gave, 
Lies broken, to-night, in her silent grave. 



THE GIKLS WE USED TO KNOW. 



155 



And I knew one among those girls, 

To me, dearer than a friend; 
You remember her I know, Jack, 

That sweet coquet, Blanche Brend; 
She jilted me to wed another, 

And to-day is a happy wife and mother, 

But there, cheer up old boy, 

And do not look so blue, 
Sweet dreams lie buried in the past — 

I don't mind telling you — 
And yet, why should it matter. Jack, 

Since you and I are wed. 
Though sweet Blanche Brend is married 

And Mollie Gray is dead. 






LET THE WOULD DO WHAT IT PLEASES. 



Let the world do what it pleases, 

I will ever trust in Jcsiis, 

Ho, who gave to me one day, 

A peace, which naught can take away, 

A peace, which grows more bright, more dear. 

With the dawning of each year; 

A calm, sweet peace in which I rest 

And know my life is fully blessed. 

Let the world go where it pleases, 
I will ever follow Jesus, 
For I know that narrow road 
Is the one the saints have trod, 
And I know that way so old 
Leads me to a liome of gold; 
Thus, I take the narrow road, 
Tho' tlic world may choose the broad. 



LET THE WORLD DO WHAT IT PLEASES. 157 

Let the world have wliat it pleases, 
I would give my all for Jesus; 
Without Iliui, fame, friends aud gold 
Would be but symbols vain and cold. 
I care not who may honor gain, 
My honoris to praise His name; 
To know that in my feeble way, 
I may own Him day by day. 

Let the world sneer when it pleases, 
I will ever speak for Jesus, 
Till I reach death's chilling stream; 
See beyond the pastures green; 
Hear the Father's tender tone, 
Saying, "thou art welcome home," 
And say, as I feel death's billows roll, 
And I yield to Him my soul, 

Let the world say what it pleases, 
I have gained a home through Jesus. 



^^"^^^^^ 



TO THE G. A. R 



Dear Grand Army Soldiers, 

With Frcedonrs flag bright, 
You meet in jour hall 

'Neath the chandeliers light, 
Just the same as you met 

Many long years ago, 
On thegieen Southern hills 

'Neath your tents white as snow. 

Just the same, did I say? 

Yes, but yet not the same, 
For it was then that you met 

In war's flery name. 
Now yuu meet in your halls 

In peace pure and bright, 
And you hear the sweet words 

From the true Book of Life. 



TO TirE O. A. B. 159 



Then you met in your tents 

From your dear honies afar 
To conquer, or be conquered 

By long years of war; 
In ])lace of the words tluit 

Your Cliaphiin now reads, 
You heard the loud cannon 

And the train])ling of steeds; 

And the bugle's clear notes, 

The fifes and the drums; 
The bursting of shells 

And the firing of guns; 
The brave thrilling words 

Your Generals' command, 
"On boys and win the victory 

And save our nation grand!" 

O'er rolling hills and valleys, 

Through swamps of Tennessee, 
You obeyed each brave commander 

And fought for Liberty. 
In fancy, I see the vision 

Of the struggle at Bull Rim; 
Oh! Soldiers, the work you did there, 

Can never be undone. 



160 TO THE G, A. R. 

You never thought of faltering, 

Yon never thought of rest 
In the raging fire of Shiloh, 

Nor the smoke of the "Wilderness," 
In the battle of Antietam, 

In "Sherman's March to the Sea,'' 
Your cry was for the Union, 

For love and loyalty. 

Three days at Gettysburg 

Has won you deathless fame, 
And the helpful siege of (Jorinth 

Does honor to your name. 
Ah Soldiers, many a comrade 

You saw on the bloody field 
When the long, fierce fight was over. 

Who could die but would not yeild. 

You saw their cold faces 

Pale with the shadow of death. 
And heard them call for some loved one 

With their last, feeble breath; 
Heard them call for the loved ones 

They would never more see 
In the fair peaceful North, 

In the home of the free; 



TO THE G. A. R. 161 



Who were watching and waiting 

Witli sore aching heart, 
For the one to return, 

That war took apart. 

You saw your comrades 

Laid in trenches so dark. 
With no stone placed above them, 

Their low graves to mark; 
Yes, you saw all this, soldiers, 

Tiiis sorrow, this blast, 
Yet, you thought not of faltering 

But stood tirm to your task. 

Stood lirm to your task, 

'Till the struggle was o'er. 
Then came back to your friends. 

And your dear homes once more; 
Came back to your friends 

In sad crippled bands. 
Yet, they welconied you glacHy 

And clasped your tired hands. 

They were proud of you. Soldiers, 
When you came marching home, 

A triumphant band, yet. 
Some hearts felt alone; 



16J? TO THE a. A. R. 



Some hearts that were yearning 
With a cruel, bitter pain, 

To see the form of some loved one, 
That returned, not again. 

Some loved form, lowly sleeping 

Beneath the green sod, 
In an unknown grave 

Wliere the war-horse had trod; 
Some loved one, who fell 

In the fierce, burning fight, 
Who fought for his country 

And died for the right. 

Yet they hide, in their hearts, 

The memories so dear. 
Of the loved ones, who fell 

In the battles so drear. 

And say with a smile, 

Though with hearts full of pain, 
"With them I can part, 

They died not in vain." 
No, they died not in vain; 

O! say that never, 
They died for the Union 

And slavery to sever. 



TO THIO 0. A. K. 163 

All, {■ioldiers, dour Soldiers, 

That has loiii;- passi'.d away, 
And, today with iori^iveiu'ss, 

The "Blue" meets the "Gray," 
And now each noble soldier, 

l^ravo martyr of the war. 
Is (j^uardin^ his well eiirned f^Iory 

In the ])ortts of (i. A. II. 

Dear (ii-and Army Soldiers, 

May you ever flight, 
1m the battles of life, 

For the side tliat is riglit; 
And when life's war is over, 

May you meet in halls above 
With (jod for your commander. 

And for your flag, his love. 

And there around theTluzzlin^ throne, 

May "stack arms" and rest. 
And dwell in peace forever, 

Among the good and blessed; 
And when the linal roll is called 

By the gentle voice! of (Jod, 
May you and all those answer 

Who now sleep beneath the sod. 



T SHALL BL SATLSFIED. 



("As for ine, I shall be satisfied when I 
awake in th}' likeness.") 

IIow sweet, when worn and weary . 

Of stern life and its ways; 

Its long nights restless, dreary. 

Its weary toilsoni days, 

Is the precious ])i"()inise given, 

That sorrow's fetters break, 

That I, like Thee, in Heaven, 

(), Christ shall soon awake. 

When I see the haughty faces 
Lined with seeming ])assion; 
The artifical graces, that 
Throng the world of fashion; 
Heart-sick, I turn away. 
Sighing for the worldlings'' sake, 
To dream of the dawn of that day. 
When I, in Thy likeness, shall wake. 



I SlfALL 1510 SATISFIED. 



165 



Soul-sick of tlie glittering world, 

Of the show of its ''Vanity's Fair;" 

When my soul, with its longings is whirled 

Close to the l)rink of despair; 

Still that promise, soft steals o'er me, 

Bidding me more courage take, 

Whispering, nothing can o'er throw thee, 

And yon, with His likeness, shall wake, 

Then, O Father, all the pain 
(rone from my heart forever; 
The light of thy love made plain. 
To darken for me never. 
Then Hell and the Devil defied, 
And I, the new life take; 
I shall then, be satisfied, 
When I in Thy likeness awake. 




IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 



Faded aiui i2;ono in the bloom 
And beauty of i^irl-hood's prime 

The lovely form, to the tomb. 
The sonl too, a home divine. 

Gone, as the beautiful flowers. 
Gone, as a fleetint;: breath ; 

Yet, gone in a living faith, 
That triumphs over death. 

Gone from the father and mother 
And friends who held her dear. 

To join the friends and brother 
Bevond the vale of tears. 



IN MEMOKV OP A KKIKNI). 167 

And thougli we weep for her, 

With hearts that are vacant and Jone, 

Lot 118 say, with true submission, 
"Thy will. Oh! God, be done." 

Father and rnotlier, struggling with 
The waves of" grief in your breast, 

Look to the One, who said, 
"Come unto me and rest." 



Think not of the lovely clay 
In repose 'neath the coffin-lid. 

Think not of the silent grave 

Where the joy of your home is hid ; 

But of her, as next you'il'see her, 

White- robed in Paradise, 
With a crown on her pure, white brow. 

And joy's light in her eyes. 



168 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 



Think of the fair, sweet rose 
That grew in jour happy home, 

As a beautifnl, treasured flower, 
Blooming around God's throne. 

And there, by the grace of God, 

When your journey through life is run. 

May you meet your beautiful Rose, 

In the Christian's "Home, sweet Home. 




TO RE MEMBER -TO FORGET. 



The falseness of a friend 
In whom we put our trust, 
That showed us that our idol 
"Was made of common dust; 
The haughty, scornful glance 
Which, in bitterness we met, 

It is easy to reincmbur, 

It is better to forget. 

Tlie fond, sweet vows we made 
In "first love's" rosy gleam, 
Tliat we tliought was true reality. 
And since have found a dream; 
Those vows, now lying broken. 
Bring to us a vain regret; 

It is sadness to remember, 

It is better to foriret. 



(11) 



170 



TO BEMEMBEE — TO FOEGET. 



The sweet, bright hopes of joy, 
Which in early youth, were blasted; 
The fleeting liours of pleasure. 
That all too shortly lasted; 
The dead forms of our friends. 
With our burning tears made wet — 

It is heart-ache to remember. 

It is better to forget. 




THE HEATHEN 



Far beyond the rolling billows, 
Far beyond the dark, blue sea, 

Is a nation clad in darkness, 

From which we must set them free. 

Is a nation clad in darkness, 

And knows nothing of our Light; 

Nothing of the God we worship, 
Nothing of the Christian's right. 

All the gods they know or worship 
Are but made of wood and stone; 

And they daily bow before them 
As we bow before God's throne. 



172 THE HEATHEN. 

And the mothers in their blindness 
Hoping to please their gods of stone; 

Throw their children in the rivers 
Heeding not their dying moan. 

Cliristians, is it not our duty 
Now to send to that dark land, 

Word about our loving Saviour, 
And his free salvation plan. 

Tell them gently, tell them plainly. 
Till they hate those gods of stone; 

And believe in Jesus only, 

Jesus on his great white throne. 

The time is coming. Christians 

When we'll see the work we have done, 

When we will hear His judgment, 

Your name of Christian, you have won. 



WOOD-LAND MEDITATIONS. 



How sweet it is to roam 
Tlirough the wood-land haunts, 
And there alone and in silence 
To meditate upon the life of 
Christ. To picture, in fancy, 
The places where he used to be: 
Jerusalem, glorious, ancient city; 
Blue Galilee, with its deep, calm 
Waters; The mount of Olives, rising 
In all its beaut}^, have all been 
Graced by His glorious. presence. 

How sweet! to think of Bethlehem, 
Where He lay, a helpless infant. 



174 WOOD-LAND MEDITATIONS. 

In a manger, ineek, fair and lowly; 
Of Egypt, dark Egypt, where He 
Was ordered by the voice of 
The Father; of Nazareth, where 
His childhood was spent; of the 
Deep Jordan, where He was baptized ; 
Of Syria, where his name was 
Blessed by those whom He healed; 
Of the high mountain where He was 
Transfigured! all the glourious inward 
Man beautifying the outward, 
Until it glowed with a Heavenly beauty; 
Of Judea, where He blessed the 
Little ones; where He pointed out 
To the rich, young ruler, the 
Way to eternal life; Of historical 
Jericho, where He restored the glorious 
Gift of vision to the two beggars, 
Sitting neglected by the wayside. 

What a pleasant picture was 



WOOD LAND MKDITATIONS. 175 

Tlu> tiiblc whon^ Ho <;;ivi^ \\\o bread 
And wine, symbols of His own 
Broken body und sj)illed l)lood, to 
His disciples. Bnt what a sad 
Picture was the garden of Gathsemane, 
Where He prayed with such bitter 
Tears; where the traitrous Judas 
Betrayed Hitn into the hands of 
The chief priests, His bitter enemies. 

How the true heart beats in anf^er, 

As wo picture Him as He stood 

Before Pontius Pilate, scorned and mocked, 

By those base men, His accusers, 

And how our hearts yearn, as 

We see, in fancy, this ij^lorious 

Being, nailed to the cross, on Calvery, 

fn the agonies of death, dying for His 

Enemies. ]>oautiful in His last hour. 

But how they thrill in triumph, 

Wiien three days later we see 



176 



\V00n-LAND MEDITATIONS. 



The victor}' at the sepulchre of 

The rich man, Josepi). The glorio.is 

Victory over death, Hell and the grave. 

How sweet are these thoughts 

Ami meditations to our souls. 



DUTY AND TALENT. 



Do we, always, do our duty? 

Do we always do our best? 
Can we say, when night approaches, 

I have earned a peaceful rest. 

You may say, "1 have no talent, 
I have no gift from Heaven, 

ilow am I to use a blessing 
Which to me was never given?" 

f 

True, you may not have the talent, 
Of an author, great and grand, 

And it may not be your duty 
To sing throughout the land. 



178 DUTY AND TALENT. 

You may not have the talent, 
Of a speaker, to win renown, 

And it may not be your duty 
To rule, and wear a crown. 

No, it may not be your duty 
To sit in the halls of state, 

And you may not have the talent 
That marks a speaker great. 

It may only be your duty 
To speak in a gentle way. 

To some sad and lonely heart 
And soothe its grief away. 

Or, it may only be, to struggle 
Day by day, against life's fate, 

Or, but to feed the beggar 
Standing humbly at the gate. 



DUTY AND TALENT. 179 

You may only have the talent 

To do the homely work of life, 
And learn the worth of patience, 

J3y long and constant strife. 

But if we use our talent 

And do the best we can. 
We will receive a vast reward 

From the ever willini^ Hand. 

For Oh! we have a talent. 

Be it either great or small, 
And we have to answer for it, 

Wlien the Master's voice doth call. 

Then let us use (»ur talent. 

However small it be. 
And say, as we give it to the Lord, 

"I have gained ten more for thee." 



THE MINISTER'S SERMON. 



Tlio evenint^ was caliu aiul iiloasant, 
'IMie boll ra,!ii^ clear and swoot, 
(/alii Mi; each to house of prajor, 
Calling each to the Savior's t'eut, 
'I'lic church was softly li>]^hted 
Aiul had a lu>ly, home-like air, 
Ah! 1 feel that the vilest sinner, 
(\)nld feel and be liappy there. 

The hymns were sun<r with reverence 

l>y tlu)se in the eve of life; 

And S(Mne who wcrt* yoiinij; and careless, 

Min<ji:kHl their voices briijht. 

And the minister, Heaven bless him. 

Was boantifnlly, saintly fair, 

With tlu> li^lit from the chandelier 

Fallin<rdown on his soft, irrav hair. 



THE minister's SERMON. 181 

He spoke in a voice that could thrill 
The heart with divinest love; 
So sweet and pleading was it, 
When he spoke of the God above, 
"Who will render to every man 
According to his deed." 
Thus, he spoke upon the subject 
Of our grand and noble creed. 

To ine his words had a meaning 

More powerful than I can tell, 

By our deed we win Heaven's blessings 

Or the dark, bitter doom of Hell. 

He spoke of the weary cares 

That fall to our lot in life. 

Which, tho' they seem burdens to us, 

Prove to be help in the strife. 

Yes, in the long, tierce battles. 
In which eacli must take a part, 
Sorrows prove but blessings. 
To strengthen the sinking heart. 
He spoke of the time when all 
Must kneel before God's throne, 
And account for every word, 
And every thought make known. 



182 THK ministek's sermon. 



He told us our love for Jesus 
Would streugthen us in that hour, 
When we feel the cold air of death, 
Chilling us with its power. 
And the words he spoke so truly, 
Cauie like a breath of flowers 
From his warm and ardent heart, 
To the colder ones of ours. 

And I know that each in that church, 
AVhon the service was over and done. 
Felt a blessing resting upon him. 
As he went through the distance home; 
And I! I said in my heart, 
As I left the church for mj home. 
That I could never forget that sermon, 
Wherever I might roam. 

And you, minister, I can ne'er f.-rget you. 
Nor the i)icture you formed that night, 
Like a saint, you looked in the pulpit. 
As you stood in the soft lamp-light. 
No, tho' years may roll o'er my head, 
And, tho' memory's lamp burn dim, 
I'll ever remember the sermon. 
The church, the prayer and the hymn. 



TIIK MINIRTEIt's SERMON, 183 

I 

And noble gray-liaired minister, 

Wherever 3011 may be, 

I trust in tlie hour of prayer, 

Tliat you will think of and pray for me; 

Pray for me that I may ever 

In the paths of virtue stray, 

Pray for me that I may never 

From the Saviour turn away. 

And I, Minister, Heaven helping, 

"Will always pray for yon; 

Pray that vou mav be strone: and firm 

In the work that yon find to do, 

And when your sun of life has set, 

Behind the clouds of many years, 

May it rise in a brighter realm. 

That is free from clouds and tears, 

And there may it shine forever. 

Lit by the light of the throne; 

In the land where the weary find rest. 

In the Christian's "Home, sweet Home." 



YOUTHFUL VOWS. 



When in youth our vows we plighted, 

In the silvery, white tnoon-shine, 
Wlien your eyes, with rapture lighted, 

As they fondly gazed in mine, 
To my heart seemed Heaven opened, 

Shedding on it all its joys, 
Yet a warning came unspoken, 

'Tis not a man's love but a boy's. 

Then I thought, if false, untrue 

You should ever prove to me. 
Dark would grow my life's bright hue, 

Shattered all its hopes would be. 
And the golden crown of fame 

That was weaving for my brow. 
Would be but an empty name. 

If you left unfilled your vow. 



YOUTFIFUL VOWS. 185 

Yet still, the voice said in mj heart, 

"His love is but a boy's," 
It seemed to come of love a part, 

Clouding all its joys; 
A?id the awaking came at last, 

You found it but a dream, 
So our love lies in the past, 

With the joys that might have been. 

And I — I did not find my life 

Blighted as I had thought; 
It has its blessings and its light, 

In its good to others brought, 
1 have learned, although bereft 

Of your love and praise, 
Much it is, I still have left 

To brighten life's sweet days. 

And to you, tlie love so sweet. 

That lit youth's early hours, 
Is like the fragrance, faint and sweet. 

Of some fair, but faded flowers; 
While that frail, sweet dream of youth. 

Has taught me, by its sadness, 
True pleasure lies in truth; 

In ffivinof others gladness. 



(12) 



TO MY LITTLE SISTER. 



A wealth of beautiful, chest-nut hair, 
Cheeks with the glow of the roses fair, 

And tender ejes of a brown tint rare, 
Of such are jou, little sister. 



As I look at the form of grace. 
Clad in simple robes of lace, 

And note the childish, merry face, 
Of you, little sister. 



I wonder if your heart's as fair. 

As your face is pure and rare; 
May God keep in His care, 

O, my little sister. 



TO MY IJTTLE SISTER. 187 

And I pray, that, all my life 

May be an example, pare and bright, 

To teach you the ways of truthful right, 
Sweet-faced, little sister. 

When you leave your bright child-hood. 

For the joys of woman-hood, 
May you be firm, true and good, 

Darling, little sister. 




THREE CHAINS 



There is a chain of many links, 
That I see by memory; 
Those links are marred and rusty 
That once seemed gold to me. 
And still there is one link, 
Which bears in letters of gold 
The tale of a faithful friend-ship, 
That never grew tired or cold. 

The others are marred and shrouded 
By the dark reeking mould of time 
And the chain, that once, so glittered, 
Has ceased, for me to shine. 
Oh! chain of the past, lie buried 
With all the joys you gave; 
It is better, for me, that you are hid 
In old times o-rass-s-rown grave. 



THREE CHAINS. 189 

For I, today have another chain, 
with links of purest gold, 
That brings less grief and pain 
Than the one that glittered of old. 
Its links gleam bright, untarnished 
By thought or word or deed. 
Yet a word or deed I must write 
On each, ere I find my chain complete. 
Oh! chain of the preasant listen, 
I must trace on your golden links. 
Some deed or word, that will glisten 
Beyond Jordan's chilling brinks. 

And another chain I dimly see 
Half hid by a mystry veil. 
And though it is near to me. 
To grasp it, my hand may fail. 
Its link, though seen but dimly, 
With a radient splendor gleam; 
Oh! never was such a lovely chain 
Gained by mortals, I ween, 
Oh! half hidden chain of the future, 
If ever you may be mine, 
Only sweet thoughts and words 
Will I carve on those links of thine. 



190 



THREE CHAINS. 



Oh! chain of the mouldering past, 
Oh! chain of the present bright, 
Oil! dim, misty chain of the future, 
With your links of starry light, 
In the "Home of many mansions," 
Preparing now for me. 
Linked in one long chain 
By the hand of God you'll be. 
And your links will tell the story 
Of what my life has been. 
O, may the links of good 
Out-number the links of sin. 




ONLY A COTTAGE HOME. 



I dwell in a humble cottage 

Yet love and peace is there, 
And the smiles and love of my dear ones 

Make it to me, a spot most fair. 
It seems to be the fairest 

Of any place I have been; 
It shields my heart from trouble 

And keeps back the dark world's sin. 

I have been where the chandeliers 

Threw down a soft radiant light; 
But, some-how the lamp on the table 

In our parlor seems more bright, 
Tho' the parlor is only common. 

The carpet neither rich or grand. 
But the group, around the table 

Make it the fairest ot the land. 



192 ONLY A COrrAGEHOME. 

1 have stood where the music floated 

On the heart witli a soft, sweet thrill, 
]>ut soine-how the dear home voices 

Are sweeter, to me still. 
I have listened to words of praise, 

I have answered with a smile. 
And tho' they fllled my heart with rapture 

I was thinkini>- all the while, 

That tho' the proud world smile upon us, 

And the wise one call us ^reat; 
It cannot help us much 

To battle against our fate; 
It cannot drive from out our hearts 

Ambition's cry so wild; 
It cannot make our hearts more tender. 

Or make our cares more mild. 

But the soft voice of a mother. 

Or, that of a father dear, 
Can ease the wo rid -sick soul. 

And make the sad heart cheer; 
They can pity us gently. 

While the world but rejoices; 
They sooth our tired hearts 

By their kind, gentle voices. 



ONLY A COTTAGK ilOME. 



193 



And as I think of the virtues, 

Which chister around my home; 
I prefer the dear home praises 

To that of the wide world's tone; 
Far sweeter, to me are the praise, 

To help me all the while, 
That fall from the dear home lips, 

Than all of tlie wise world's smile. 

And, so 1 hold dear in my heart 
The home with the loved ones, all. 

Without them, I would not exchange it 
For the fairest palace or hall. 




ADA WAYNE 



Ada Wajiie, do you remember 

That moon-lit walk down by the sea, 

When, in accents soft and tender, 

Confidingly yon talked to me? 

The moonliglit touched, with soft caress, 

Four shining, light-brown hair, 

It glittered on your snow-white dress. 

And kissed j'our pale cheek, fair. 

Yon spoke of your father, my friend — 
Of how he had often talked of me, 
But said, you never thought we'd spend 
Hours together by the sea. 
Yes, he and I were the best of friends, 
Tho' I am younger by years, than he. 
Ah, that early friendship can never end 
On this side of Eternity's sea. 



ADA WAYNE. 195 

Oh! Ada Wajne, I read your heart 

That ini>-ht by the sad sea sliore; 

Saw the friendsliip yitii gave me, was in part, 

The same as your father gave of yore; 

Of loving me you never dreamed,- 

JSTor dreamed that I loved thee, 

While I would have gave the world, I ween. 

To know you cared for me. 

You never thought, as 3'ou talked to me. 

Your father's old college chum, 

That your words would live, in memory. 

For me, 'till life is done? 

Oh! past is that summer, Ada Wayne, 

Oh! past are those walks by the sea, 

And yet, a wound that is deej) in pain 

All unconcious, you gave to mo. 

I read your father's letter, to-day. 

That said j'ou were a bride; 

lie said it was hard to give yon away, 

His darling, his joy and pride, 

I>ut he cannot feel the j)arting, such pain. 

As I felt that night by the shore. 

When I read in your dark eyes, Ada Wayne, 

That I was a friend and nothing more. 



A BUNCH OF FADED FLOWERS. 



Love, faded is the bunch of ilovvers. 

You gave that night at tlio ball ; 
When hours, witli me were your brightest houri 

And you were my all in all. 

And as I take them from tlie desk, 

Where tliey have 1 lin tor ten long j'ears, 

My heart is filled with a strange unrest 
That dims my eyes with tears. 

For tlio' our love is crushed and dead 

And taded like these flowers, 
It does a soft, sweet fragrance shed, 

And brings a memorj^ of those hours. 



A LITTLE GllAYE. 



In the quietest nook of the grave-j'ard, 
Where, often 1 go to roam; 

I, once found a tiny mound 
Away from the others — alone. 

A small, white slab of marble 
With "Baby" in letters fair, 

Is all I see to tell me 
Who is sleeping there. 

I never saw the tiny form 
Nor the cold, pale baby-tace. 

That is quietly mouldering away 
In that quiet, lonely place. 



198 



A LITTLE GKAVE. 



Yet, sometimes I strew wilh sweetest flowers 

That little grass-grown tomb; 
And sigh for the baby-bud, that died 

Ere it glowed with perfect bloom. 

And 1 love to think as I stand l>y its grave 

That, although a stranger I be. 
One day, in Heaven, the baby-soul 

Will know and welcome me. 




A ^'GOOD-BYE" EECITATION. 



Dear teacher and school-mates, 
The time has come at last, 
When our pleasant term is ended 
And lies buried in the past; 
May the glad vacation 
Hold many joys for you. 
But school-mates, mid its pleasures. 
Let's be, to each other, true. 

And let us, too, remember 
While we are out of school, 
Our teacher kind and gentle 
And every golden rule. 
And when we are far from her 
In the harder school of life 
Let's remember her true teachings 
Amid its toil and strife. 



200 A "good-bye" recitation. 

In that school of life 
May you learn each lesson giv^en, 
And when its term is ended, 
Be promoted into heaven. 
And yon, onr dearest teacher. 
We thank you for your care, 
And of your friend-ship, always 
We h ipe to hold a share. 

If ever again you chance 

To stand in a teacher's place, 

May a loving smile, on seeing you, 

Light up each pupil's face. 

And, when life's teaching term is over 

And your report made l»y the Lord, 

May you find it is a good one 

And a crown for your reward. 

And now the time has come 
Which we wish could not draw nigh, 
The much regreted moments. 
When to all, we say good-bye. 

Read on the last day of school in May, 18S5. 



THE GK A. VE- YARD'S SECRET. 



1 walked along the grave-jard, 

Among the tomb-stones white, 
And some-how all seemed gloomy 

Tho' the earth was bathed in light; 
For I know that under the ground, 

I^)eneath the dark, green trees. 
Lay the treasures of fond, fond hearts 

That knows not a moment's ease. 

As I stood by the graves of fathers; 

The graves of sisters and mothers; 
As I stood by the grass-grown mounds 

That forever parted lovers; 
As I stood by the gra^^es of brothers* 

And tombs of friends, held dear; 
As I stood by graves of enemies, 

Whose lives were blighted here. 



(18) 



202 



THE GRAVE-YARD S SECRET. 



I thought, what a secret a grave-yani holds,. 

A secret profound and deep; 
The secret, that while some laugh 

Others sigli and weep. 
For those who have never felt sorrow, 

Cannot fathom other's grief. 
Yet all must learn the secret, 

Wliat it is to sigh and weep. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 



I often think that, when I am dead, 
The gay will be merry still. 

And some one will come, in my 'stead 
My vacant place to till. • 

When I am dead the roses will blush; 

The violets shed their bloom ; 
The snn-light will be just as bright 

As it falls upon ray tomb. 

AVhen I am dead, the birds will sing 
Evich merry, thrilling song; 

The summer dawn, and soft snow fall, 
And just as now, the world go on. 



204 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 



When I am dead, the hearts that are sad 
Will be healed bj time's fingers tender, 

And they will find other friends to love, 
And their grief will cease to remember. 

But Oh! to know that when I am dead, 
Some one could this tribute give; 

The tribute, to say, as they kiss my clay lips: 
"I am better because she has lived." 




A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 



We were bidding each other good-night; 

My sweet, young friend and I, 
The night was inky blackness, 

But dim stars lit the sky. 

We had been to see a neighbor, 
Who was lying, poor and ill; 

My fair, young friend was, thus, ever 
Doing in deeds, God's will. 

And now, after brightening the hours 
Of a darkened, saddened life. 

She was bidding me good-bye, 
In the chilling, summer night. 



206 A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 

Far down the country road, 

i\.nd almost out of sight, 
In the window of her home, 

I caught a gleam of light. 

"Are you not afraid," I asked, 

"To go so far alone?" 
"Afraid? why no!" she answered, 

"There is a light in the window at home." 

And kissing me, she left me, 

In the summer's darkness, there; 

But the words her soft voice spoke, 
Had sent to my henrt, this prayer: 

That, thus, may our hearts be strengthened, 
As we tread Death's road alone, 

By seeing, just across the valley, 
A light in the window at Home! 



A PICTURE 



Tliere liangs a treasured picture 
On the walls of my heart to-night, 

It hangs, framed in golden memory, 
And the picture itself is bright. 

A rose twined cottage, nestling still, 

In a bower of trees, at the foot of a hill; 

A singing brooklet running near, 
Falling like music on the ear. 

All about on every side. 

Rises sloping hill-sides green; 

And far away, beyond them all, 

Are the trees of a dim old forest seen. 



208 A PICTURE. 

Jnst between, on a sloping hill, 

Just in view, lies a grave yard still ; 
'Tis the sweetest scene of the picture fair, 
• For many dear ones are sleeping there. 

To soften the }>icture — over all, 

The lights and shades of a sun-set fall, 

Touching the cottage, the hill-sides green, 
The grave yard and forest with tender sheen. 

This, the picture, ray childhood's home, 
Treasured by me as afar I roam ; 

I have seen beautiful scenes apart, 
But none as fair as this to my heart. 

So fair it is, that to-night, I pray, 
When life has spent, for me, its day; 

When my hopes are sinking low. 
To rise beyond cold Jordan's flow. 



n 



A PICTURE. 



209 



"When I lay life's burdens down 
From my aching, weary breast; 

When I go fro!Ti ci'oss to crown ; 
From earthly toil to heavenly rest; 

When life's sun is sinking low, 

In death's gloomy, darksome skies; 

May this picture be the scenes, 
That shall greet my dying eyes. 




KISS ME WHEN I AM DYING. 



"When life's hours, for me are fleetinsf, 

When my heart has almost ceased its beating, 

And dim my vision, once so clear, 

When the angel of Death is hovering near, 

When my spirit, home is flying, — 

Kiss me darling, when I'm dying. 

Darling, I have trusted you, 
Loved and ever found you true; 
Weep for me, then if you will, 
When dead I am lying cold and still; 
But ere then, and just as my soul 
Is crossing Jordan's icy roll. 
Come, without (ears, without sighing, 
And kiss me darling, when I'm dying. 



JESUS DOETH ALL THINGS WELL. 



Should our faith in Christ grow weaker, 

When our dearest treasures fly? 
Should we think that He has left us 

When our best hopes fade and die? 
JSo, tho' the heart's best hopes may perish, 

Leaving pain too deep to tell ; 
There comes to the trusting heart the whisper, 

Jesus doeth all things well. 

Once I lost, in early childhood, 

A play-mate, who, to me was dear, 
And its tiny grave, I watered 

With my bitter, scalding tears, 
Till my mother, one day whispered. 

As in prostrate grief, I fell, 
"It is wrong to weep so, darling, 

Jesus doeth all things well." 



2rJ .iKsrs i>ovrn am rniNii!* wKi.i,. 

Ah. 'twas tlion 1 loanuHl to loan 

Oil that slixtM:::, j^tist^utuna^ariw, 
Ami know He sont tliat chiUiisli ijriof 

To jriiard my youthful hoart tVom liartn, 
As thon, I vowo.i botoiv my Saviour, 

O'or niv hoart a swoot ]h\ioo toll; 
A oalm. ^<woot ]>oaoo that soomod to say, 

.losus dooth all thino^s woll. 

Aiul otioo aii'ain, in early manhood. 

.lust at tho uoon ot' lito, 
Whon tho future was lyin^- before me, 

Ooloivd with i:^)ldot\ lii»ht; 
Tho one most loved and trusted. 

Proved false to me one day. 
And the future, vmee so i^^oldon, 

Ohauijed to ashen i::ray. 

Yet tho sweet words, that had helped me 

In boyhood's unfori^otten hours. 
Now came to my troubled heart 

Like 51 breath of fraijrant llowers. 
And as I taood luy shattoi*oti hopes. 

As my hoart with sorrow swelled, 
1 tolt, tho' I did not see liis way. 

That Jesus doeth all things well. 



1 



,JK8U8 DOETir MA, TirrNOH \VK\,L. 213 

Ycar8 have paBsed and I ain liapj>y, 

All my sadness, buried lies, 
And I see my joiitlifiil idol, 

Now with clear, uiiblinded eyes; 
I am better, far, to-day 

Than if she had proved true to inc. 
For 1 know how cold and selfish, 

ITow unworthy she can he; 
Thus, tho' sorrows close around ine, 

And like billows o'er me swell, 
I will ever rest assured, 

Jesus doeth all things well. 






^ 



A BROTHER'S WEDDING PRESENT. 



So you are !4'oing to leave us, Nellie, 

To brighten the life of another? 

Ah, you'll forget, in your husband's smile, 

To love and think of your brother; 

You won't? Well, well, little sis; 

Be sure your promise, you keep. 

For when you are gone, I shall greatly miss 

Your soft voice, tender and sweet. 

Don't toss your head, I'm not Hattering, Nell, 

The' perhaps you may never know 

The good you often did me, 

By your kind words, tender and low. 

You may never know the power for good, 

The wonderful strength, that lies 

Hidden from all, save a brother, 

In a sister's pleading eyes. 



A brother's wedding J'RESENT. 215- 

Among the wedding presents 
Your many friends shall bring; 
From me, in a golden casket, 
You will find a diamond ring, 
But the present I would give you, 
Dear little sis, is this; 
The blessings of a thankful heart 
And a brother's grateful kiss. 

For you Nellie, by your own pure life,. 
(Such a life is a blessing to man,) 
And by your patience and your love. 
Have made me what I am; 
May Heaven's richest blessings 
Hest upon you and your choice. 
May your heart ever be as true. 
And ever as now, rejoice. 

But there, I'll have no tears, 

On this, your bridal night, — 

And there's the bride-groom coming — 

You look like a saint in white? 

So kiss me little sister, 

Ere you are made a bride! 

H" ever I wed, my sweet one; 

One like you must be my wife. 



THEIR AIR CASTLES. 



Four bright-eyed school-girls sat, one day, 
And talked of great things to be done 
When school-books, forever, were laid away 
And they, to woman-hood had grown. 
Oft it was, these maidens fair 
Talked and dreamed and planned; 
''Bnilding castles in the air," 
Large and bright, but based on sand. 



Said May, the eldest of the group: 
"I will win an author's fame, 
When I am a woman 
All the world shall praise my name, 
I will scorn all lovers 
And will never, never wed. 
You may wear the wedding ring, 
1, the laurel-wreath instead." 



TIIKIK AIR CASTLKS. 217 

Next Amy spoke, with silvery voice, 
And p^ave lior wisli and plan, 
"When I am a woman, 
I will be a singer grand ; 
Through the grandest opera halls 
I will make my rich voice swell, 
'Till it charms the audience 
And holds them like a spell." 

"When I am a woman,'' 
Said Kate, with shining eyes, 
"] will 1)0 an artist 
And paint the seas and skies, 
I will draw such glowing scenes. 
And paint such faces sweet. 
That the world will wonder, 
Ajid lay laurels at my feet." 

Then said Maud, the youngest there. 
Raising her violet eyes, 



(U) 



218 TIIKIK AIK CASTLES. 

"I can neither wi-itc or sing, 
Nor paint the seas and skies; 
Bnt wlien I am a wonum, 
What-ever else I do, 
'Tis one tiling 1 know, 
I will be a woman true. 



Years have passed ami to them brought 

The wished-for, looked-for time, 

For the thoughts of woman-hood, 

On each fair face shines. 

May, who was to be an authoress, 

And all lovers, send away, 

Is writing the joys of a loving wife 

In the joyful heart to-day. 

For when love had sought her heai-t 
As he came on joyful wing. 



TIIICIU AIK OASTI.KS. 219 

She lot the liuirela <jj(), 

And wore ii weddiiii;' riiio;. 

Amy, who was to chjiriu the crowd 

As she stood in ii sinujer's place, 

And will its ])l!indit8 loved 

By her wonderful voice iind face, 

To-day is usinn- her rich voice clear, 

In sweeter, <i;randor and nobler sphere 

Far away in a heathen land, 

(livinijj the tidini^s, "<j^ood will to man;" 

And Kate, whose wondertnl j)ictni-(!S 

Tlie world was to seek and ])rise. 

Has never painted the seas « 

Nor the glowing sun-lit skies. 

But to-day, on the hearts ol" her children 
She is painting a jncture rare, 
The j)icture ot" a hap{)y home 
Tinted with a mother's prayer. 



220 



THKTU ATR OASTLES. 



While Maude, who sought uo worklly tume 
To gild her humble name. 
Who lono-ed to be a woman true 
Without a thought of tame, 



To-d^y, in the world of authors, 

Is praised and honored now; 

And the starry crown of fame 

Is resting on hei- brow. 

And with all lier wealth and fame 

Her i^-irlish ])rayer is answered too, 

For among earth's sweet, true women, 

She is the truest of the true. 



MKT AS STRANGKIiS. 



We met, to-night as striin<;er8 

In the glittering, merry crowd — 
I ahnost fear they heard my heart 

It beat 80 loud. 
Ye8, we met us Htraiigers, — 

Why not? Our love has fled 
And I, for eight long years, 

Have been, to you, as dead. 

Those years have made you fan ions, 

And added to y(jur grace; 
You are sought for your wonderful voice, 

And loved for your beautiful face. 
I have watched, through all these years. 

And loved you from afar. 
As one would watch the radiance 

Of a bright, undying star. 



222 MET AS STRANGERS. 

To-ni^ht, we met as strangers, 

After onr youthful dream; 
But you, the girl I loved, 

In the world of song, is queen; 
Yet we did not meet as strangers, 

For into your eyes to-night, 
There flashed, for just .a moment, 

A ghost of the old love-light. 

And into my heart, the old love, 

As our hostess spoke your name, 
With some of its old-time rapture. 

And passionate pleasure came. 
To-night we met as strangers, — 

How well you acted your part! 
None, by your beautiful face, 

Would dream of the pain in your heart. 

But 1 saw your heart and its pain. 
By the look of pained surprise, 



MET AS strangp:rs. 



223 



That I saw, for jnst a moment, 
Darken your calm, grey eyes. 

And I thought, as so coldly, so calmly,- 
So proudly you greeted me, 

That never a woman of Sparta 
Was braver than you can be. 



We met to-night as strangers, — 

Ah, well, it is better so ; 
Since we cannot repair the past 

It is better to Jet it go; 
'Tis well to hide our hearts 

From the proud world's searching stare; 
Let them only see the roses, 

Thouo-h the thorns are hidden there. 



1 



